Author's Note: This chapter covers a couple years, so warning for unexplained time skips. At one point, there's an entire time skip from first grade to third.

I give you the third installment of Rage, Rage.

Chapter Two - Salad Days

Somewhere in the middle of her screaming, she realized that deja vu felt a lot like dying again. Memories and tears strangled themselves together in her chest and the fire burned up her throat. In the midst of it all, she forgot what it was like to breathe.

"Juno!"

Images in her head wrestled with a younger mind, dragging it down into submission. She wasn't sure when she had curled up on her side, but she choked on her next few shrieks and instead buried her fingers like claws in her hair. Something slammed loudly around her and she yelped, whimpers straining her lungs.

"Matilda? Oh, Matilda, honey. Mama's here." A hand smoothed across her back and pulled her forward. The contact dissolved her sobs into a low whine. "Mama's here, honey. Wake up. It's okay. Everything is just fine. Wake up, Juno."

"Wh-what?"

"Wake up, Juno! Wake up!"

Matilda gasped, struggling up. The person in front of her scrambled back. She pressed her hand against her chest and felt the tremors of her pounding heart. "Wh . . . . Stevie?" she rasped.

"Juno? You 'kay?"

She fell back against her pillow and stared up at the ceiling, waiting for her vision to stop swimming and the fire to stop burning her lungs.

"Juno?"

"Yeah," she breathed. "I'm okay, Stevie. Sorry."

He studied her for a long moment. "Do I need to get Ma?"

Matilda sat up, running a hand through her hair. She took in a shaky, wet breath and focused on the dim sunrise filtering in through the musty window. "No, no, I'm okay. It was probably about time for us to get up anyway." She moved to stand.

"Nightmare?"

She paused, glancing towards him. "Um, yeah. It's fine." Matilda hopped to her feet and went to their shared dresser to get her clothes.

Steve climbed up on her bed creaky bed and watched her go through their things. "You get them a lot. Maybe you should tell Ma."

"Don't need to. Look! You get to wear the new shoes Mom got you for school!" Matilda turned, displaying the worn hand-me-downs with a beaming smile.

Steve pouted, only to have his clothes hit him in the face when she threw them at him. He sputtered, falling back. Then he sat up and began pulling off his too-large shirt. "It's not even real school."

"Is too real school! Kindergarten counts just as much as everything else." She pulled on her dress and frowned when her thumb caught on a hole in the shirt sleeve. With a bit of struggle, she managed to get it on right. Brushing her hand over the small, ragged hole, Matilda turned to Steve. "Besides, it's just a year. Put your shoes on."

"So bossy," he complained, though he moved to do so.

Their door inched open. "Oh, good," Sarah sighed as she looked inside, her smile somehow only managing to worsen the dark circles under her eyes. "You two are awake. Breakfast is ready."

"Mu-um," Steve said, holding out his foot. "These shoes are too big!"

Sarah's demeanor slumped a bit and her smile became a bit more forced. "I'm—"

"That's okay!" Matilda said, putting her hands on her hips. "We'll just put some newspaper in 'em and they'll fit perfect. This just means you get to keep 'em longer 'cause you won't grow out of 'em so fast."

"Really?" he asked.

"Yep. Mom?"

Sarah nodded thankfully. "I'll get the newspaper. Come out for breakfast, you two."

Steve kicked off the shoes and bounced up from the bed, skipping out of their room. Matilda scooped up the shoes and followed him out to the table. "Thanks, Mom."

She set a plate in front of each of them. "I'll walk you there but you can walk home after school. Do you have the key?" Sarah dropped the newspaper next to her daughter's plate.

Matilda nodded and picked up the newspaper. "Double shift today?" She crumpled up a page and pushed it into the toe of Steve's left shoe.

"Yes. Double shift. So I'll be back late. You sure you're okay making dinner?"

"We'll be okay."

"Good, good. Now listen, Steven, Matilda. I want you two on your best behavior today. You want to make a good impression with your teacher. So no taking any wooden nickels, okay?"

"Got it, Ma!" Steve said, reaching across the table for Matilda's toast. She glanced at him and he froze. Rolling her eyes, she nodded and pushed her plate closer to him. He grinned and took the food. "You're the best, Juno!"

"I know, Stevie. I know."

"Get the fuck off my brother, you goddamn mugs!" She nailed the first seven-year-old in the back of the head with the broken fence post and it cracked angrily against his skull. With a cry, the boy tumbled forward and his hands went up to his head instead of catching his fall. He fell face first into the alleyway's rocky ground. As the other kid turned around, she drove the post into his knees and he stumbled.

"What the hell!" His hand reached for her and Matilda dropped the post just in time to nail a kick between his legs instead. He crumpled with a whimper.

Matilda stooped and picked up the fence post, eying both of the boys as they crawled to their feet. "Go on," she said. "Screw!"

Stumbling against each other, they scrambled down the alley and out onto the street. Matilda dropped the post and turned. "Really, Stevie?" she asked, helping him up and looking him over. "I was gone in the store for five minutes. Can't keep out of a fight for even that long?"

"They were pickin' on me." He winced and hissed when she pressed her thumb against the dirt-crusted gash in his forehead. "Ow."

"Oh, you're fine. C'mon. Mom can patch you up." She put her brother's boney arm across her shoulders and helped him onto the street and back towards their apartment. "Ya know, you could have at least waited until I got back to fight 'em. There's no way you thought you were gonna win that."

"Doesn't matter."

"Oh, Stevie." She sighed and helped him up the stairs, digging the key out of her pocket. Matilda unlocked the door and pushed the way inside. "We're back, Mom."

"Oh, good! Dinner should be done in a half— What happened to Steven!"

"He got in a fight."

"Alright. Sit him down at the table. I'll get my bag." Sarah wiped her hands on her apron and disappeared into her room.

"Here ya go, Stevie. Right there. Can you see straight? How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Uh, none? Juno, that's not fair."

"Alright, move over, Matilda. Thank you, dear," Sarah said, setting her bag on the table. "Let's see." As she got to work, she murmured, "Do you want to tell me what happened, Steven?"

"They were just bullies, Ma. Made fun of my size. Said I was stupid." He sniffled. "Am I?"

"Oh, no, no, sweetheart." Sarah smiled sadly. "I know it hurts. And I'm sorry they said that."

"But why did they?" he gasped out, rubbing at his tear-filled eyes.

"Because they're scared of you, Steven."

"Scared?"

"Yes. Because your heart is just so large." She pressed a hand against his chest. "That's why you feel things so much. And that's why you scare them. Because you're so much more than your body."

He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. "Really?"

"Really." She kissed his bandaged forehead. "Now, I'm going to finish dinner. Why don't you and Matilda go read until I'm done?"

"Okay." He let Matilda help him to his feet and then stumbled after her to their room.

Matilda let him inside first and then closed the door behind them. "Hey, Stevie?"

"Huh?"

"Step back. A little more. A little more. Right there. Okay, now bend your knees but keep 'em over your feet. Make a fist. No, no, you gotta keep your thumb on the outside or it'll break."

He followed her orders in absolute confusion. "Juno?"

"I'm gonna teach you how to throw a punch, okay? That way if they bother you again, you can nail 'em right in the nose with a good one. Got it?"

He blinked. And then he grinned. "Got it."

"Hi, Mom," Matilda said as soon as they were in the door. "Mrs. Jones sent a note for you." She moved over to where Sarah was working at the table and held out the envelope.

"Oh. Did you . . . get in trouble, Matilda?" Sarah took it with a frown.

Matilda shrugged. "I don't think so. At least, I don't think I did anything wrong." She bounced on her feet as her mother opened it. Sarah stared at the paper inside for a long time. "What does it say?" Matilda asked with a frown.

Sarah jumped, looking up. "What? Oh, no, I . . . . I just have to meet with your teacher tomorrow, okay?" Sarah got to her feet, folding up the letter.

"Um, okay." She frowned. "Did I . . . did I do something wrong?"

"Not at all." Sarah leaned down and kissed Matilda's forehead. "Why don't you go ahead and get dinner started while I get ready to leave."

Matilda frowned. "Night shift?"

"You're leaving, Ma?" Steve asked, bounding up to them. "But I thought you were gonna help me with my homework."

"I'll help you," his sister interrupted before their mother even got a chance. "'sides, that'll help me too. Now, whaddya want for dinner? Chicken and potatoes sound good?"

"We're out of chicken," Sarah sighed, brushing off her skirt. "I won't be able to get any more for a little while."

Matilda smiled up at him. "Okay. We've got some noodles left. We'll make do. Stevie?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you turn the radio on while I start the food? Thank you!"

She stood just to the left of the doorway, clutching her bag to her chest and staring out at the sea of children inside the classroom. Another group shouldered roughly past her in their hurry to get inside. Matilda stumbled for a second before catching herself. Then she took a deep breath and approached the desk at the front of the room. "Excuse me? Are you Miss Campbell?"

The woman looked up. "I am. And you are?" Then she frowned. "Ah, wait, you must be young Matilda Rogers. Am I correct?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You're the second advanced student this week. Welcome to third grade, then. Take a seat and we'll begin shortly." Miss Campbell waved out at the chairs and returned to marking up the paper in front of her.

Matilda turned to look for a seat. Second advanced student? Who was the—

At the front of the class sat a boy her age in patched clothing and a worn cap whose feet didn't even touch the ground. He was hunched over a textbook, scribbling away and completely lost in his own world as she approached.

"Hello? Is this seat taken?" she asked, gesturing to the empty spot next to him.

He looked up blankly and started chewing on his pencil. "What? Oh, yeah!"

"Oh, okay. My bad." She turned away.

"Wait! No! Sorry. It's not taken." He scratched his head. "I wasn't really listenin'. You can sit down."

"Great!" She sat down and turned to him, holding out her hand. "Matilda Rogers."

He stared at her hand for a moment before grinning and shaking it. "Nice to meet you. I'm Howard Stark."