This series has really become a Study in Steve for me. Immersing myself in his headspace was probably my favorite part of writing this story, and this chapter is a great example of some of the things I found when I really dug deep. Also, May is cystic fibrosis awareness month! Because it is such a rare disease, no government funding goes towards CF research, so all development of new drugs and treatments is funded by generous donors. They're responsible for incredible advances like Trikafta, which has been almost a miracle drug for many CF patients, but there's still much work to be done.

Steve IV: Treatment Envy

Bucky finished cancer treatment. He was positively over the moon, and Steve was too—of course he was. But tucked deep in his chest, practically buried beneath his vicarious joy, sat a simmering lump of jealousy.

Steve despised it. He hated the fact that he couldn't just be happy for him like any semi-decent best friend would. But as Bucky grew more and more excited to work his way back to a normal life, Steve realized with a sick sensation in his gut that he didn't want things to change. His entire life, Steve had been the only one to miss school, the only one his friends avoided when they had so much as a little cold, the only one to sit out because he was too sick to participate. For these past ten months, he wasn't alone anymore.

Every time he thought about it, Steve's stomach churned with disgust at his own selfishness. How despicable was it to think of his own benefit when his friend was sick and fighting for his life? What would Bucky think if he knew Steve considered his victory against cancer a personal loss? Steve shivered at the prospect of his friend ever finding out about this betrayal.

He shoved all thought of this to the back of his mind from the moment he stepped through the Barnes' front door at Bucky's cancer free party. It was easy to plaster on a smile, seeing Bucky that happy, but it faltered when he glimpsed the calendar on Bucky's desk with 'port comes out!' written in a square a few days from now. For whatever reason, that drove it home. Bucky was really done, with nowhere to go but up. Steve, on the other hand, could hope for nothing more than staving off his inevitable decline for as long as possible. He'd never get his own port removed, unless it got infected or broken and they had to replace it. He'd never finish off a course of IV meds that he could say would be his last, never take his last pills, never leave the hospital without looking back. He'd never get to say "I used to have CF," like Bucky could now say about cancer.

Bucky, in his joyous innocence, didn't notice Steve's moment of darkness. Or maybe Steve actually succeeded at hiding it. Either way, Bucky remained blissfully unaware of his friend's treachery. In fact, no one noticed the forced nature of his enthusiasm or the dullness deep in his eyes. No one except Tony. Out of everyone there, most of whom had known Steve for at least a decade, it was Tony, who he'd met a mere six months ago, who glanced at Steve and recognized what lay beneath the shallow layer of false cheer.

Bucky's mom called everyone into the kitchen to grab food and the rest of their friends tore off. Tony instead waltzed straight up to Steve and, when Bucky paused in the doorway to ask if they were coming, told him they'd be there in a minute.

"Are you okay?" Tony confronted him without preamble.

"Yeah," Steve insisted.

"I don't believe you. You look…sad."

"Why would I be sad? Bucky's in remission." As much as Steve appreciated Tony's keen eye, telling him would be almost as bad as telling Bucky. Steve didn't want to witness Tony's face fall when he revealed he was capable of thoughts so horrible.

Tony looked into his eyes knowingly. "I don't know," he admitted. His gaze drifted, hesitating noticeably on Steve's oxygen cannula. "I can't think of any reason at all for you to feel down right now."

Of course Tony was too damn smart for Steve to fool him. He figured it out just by observing for barely an hour. Accepting that he'd been cornered, Steve asked with a heaving sigh, "Am I a terrible friend?"

"No," Tony said immediately.

"Then why do I feel like one?"

"Because you're only human. And a darn good one at that."

Steve gave a wry chuckle. He liked to think he was a good person, but he'd never felt less like one than right now. "Thanks, Tony."

"I mean it, Steve," he reiterated.

"I know, I know. I just…I want this feeling to go away."

"It will. Just give it time."

"Okay. Promise you won't tell anyone?"

"I promise. But I don't think you should just swallow this and let it rot. You should talk to someone at least."

"I will," Steve said. "I promise." He already had someone in mind.

"Good. Now we gotta get out there before they get suspicious."

~0~

The next day, Steve called the one person he could always count on for a CFer's point of view. Brian. They spent a few minutes exchanging small talk and catching up since they hadn't spoken in months. Usually they talked at least every three months, the same frequency as clinic visits, but due to the chaos of the last year or so they hadn't been able to keep up. Steve was glad to see him after all this time. The other kids at Gravesen understood more than the general public, but none of them could ever truly know cystic fibrosis.

In general, Brian was a lot better off than Steve. His PFT was a good thirty percent higher and he wasn't even close to being oxygen-dependent. The one thing they refused to compare, however, was life expectancies. That was just unnecessary, and they were constantly changing anyway. Still, it didn't take an expert to deduce that Steve's was probably a good bit shorter.

"Bucky finished cancer treatment," Steve announced.

"Oh, that's fantastic! Good for him," Brian replied.

"I know, I'm beyond excited for him. But can I be honest with you?"

"Always."

"I'm fucking jealous," Steve said with a solemn shake of his head. "I feel like the worst friend ever when I think about it, but I've gotten used to not being the only sick one, and I don't want to go back."

"Steve, you are not the worst friend ever. Not even close," Brian assured.

"Yeah, that's what my friend Tony said, but what could possibly be worse than wishing my friend would stay sick?"

"You're not wishing he would stay sick, Steve."

"That's basically what I'm thinking, isn't it?"

"No. You don't want Bucky to stay sick. That's ridiculous. You just wish you could get better too. And that's a perfectly normal way to feel in this situation."

"I guess you're right." If he really broke it down, that is what Steve actually wanted. Witnessing Bucky finish treatment served as a reminder of the permanence of Steve's own illness.

"You know I'm right," Brian said with a smirk. "Having a progressive chronic illness bites, there's no doubt about that, but you can't measure your health against non-CFers'. Bucky is going to get better and you're not. That's the truth. But moping about it is a waste of your time."

"And God knows I have little enough of that as it is," Steve huffed. He'd been doing treatments three times a day for the past two months. Spending nearly two hours a day on the vest really forced him to hone his time management skills. Needless to say, he was not looking forward to balancing a full school schedule on top of it all starting next month.

"I'll talk to you later Steve," Brian said.

"Okay. Bye."

~0~

Steve awoke earlier than usual on Sunday. It had been a good night, no coughing fits rousing him in the early hours of the morning as they often did nowadays. Still, it took him a solid ten minutes of intermittent coughing plus his first vest treatment of the day to feel right side up again. He wandered into the kitchen, awaiting the weekend morning breakfast that Mom always made when she didn't have a shift the night before. When he didn't have to rush off to school, he could take his time and eat what Mom deemed an acceptable quantity of food. This morning, no aroma of cooking bacon drifted through the apartment, and Mom was nowhere to be found.

"Where's Mom?" Steve asked. He was certain she wasn't at work, yet the only person home was clearly Dad, seated at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and a newspaper.

"She's at church."

"Church?" He knew Mom had been raised Catholic, but she really only went to church for Christmas and Easter services. Why would she go on a random Sunday in summer?

"Yes."

"Why?"

"She wanted to go to Mass."

"Why?"

"You haven't played the 'why game' since you were three," Dad said with a smile.

"I'm not playing the 'why game,' I'm just curious why Mom suddenly decided to go to Mass."

"Why don't you ask her when she gets back. She should be home by eleven."

"Okay." Steve turned around to head back to his room to continue the book he'd started. After reading All Quiet on the Western Front at the beach, he'd started working his way through other Erich Maria Remarque works. He was nearly halfway through and eager to continue Spark of Life.

Dad stopped him. "Breakfast."

He should have known even without Mom here he wouldn't get away with skipping out. Steve estimated his appetite had abandoned him about six months ago, during the onset of the exacerbation after Carol's passing. He still ate, of course, but it was more of a chore than anything, much like taking his meds. Steve made peanut butter toast and accepted the glass of milk Dad placed in front of him. By the time Mom returned, he was nearly finished.

"Good morning," she greeted.

"How was church?" Steve asked.

"It was lovely."

"Is this something you're going to do every Sunday?"

"I think so. Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah, of course. You can do whatever you want. I guess I'm just wondering why you suddenly decided to start going."

"I went every week when I was younger, and I just felt like it was something that I might benefit in going back to."

"Okay. You're not going to drag me along with you, are you?"

"No," she assured. "I want you to make your own decisions about that sort of thing. But if you want to tag along, you're certainly welcome to."

"Maybe." Steve didn't think he could be up and out the door that early on a Sunday morning, but he didn't want to shut down the idea entirely. However, he couldn't tamp down his suspicions after her brief, vague explanation for why she'd started attending. He knew what she'd been hoping for since the day he was born, and now that things were worse it only made sense that she'd resorted to praying for it too.

~0~

Bucky made counts to return to school on time, and Steve was overcome with happiness. Every day last year that he'd gone to school without Bucky had felt intrinsically wrong, and he was elated things were finally returning to normal. Well, mostly normal. Steve could tell how much Bucky struggled, between adjusting to the weird sort of attention he now garnered as a person with a visible disability and pushing through post-chemo fatigue. He knew how that felt, to have to get back into the swing after an extended absence while also feeling like shit. It wasn't fun.

Having him back, though, was definitely fun. At first there was somewhat of an awkward energy within the group now that Brock hung out with them. Bucky hadn't been there for Steve's confrontation with Alex and Brock's subsequent apology, so he still harbored some ill feelings towards the kid for being a bystander for so long. Brock was his usual kind self around Bucky, but he refused to trust him. Steve confronted him about it one day after school while the two of them did homework in Steve's room.

"Why won't you just be nice to Brock?" he asked.

"Why should I? He wasn't nice to us for ten years."

"For the last time, Alex blackmailed him. As soon as he was gone, Brock apologized to me. He's actually a really nice guy. I wish you'd just give him a chance."

"I'm sorry I'm not as quick to forgive as you are, Steve."

"I'm not quick to forgive. I was uneasy about him at first, but he proved himself. Look." Steve pulled out his phone and showed Bucky the countless messages from Brock over the past several months. Almost every day while they'd been gone, Brock texted Steve well wishes for both him and Bucky. Especially on hard days, Steve had loved reading them and remembering how many people cared about him.

"So? He could just be trying to butter you up."

"But he's not. He's genuine. He took the time every day to check in. Not even Jim and Timmy did that."

"I still don't trust the guy. What if this is some elaborate plan between him and Jasper? And Alex could still be involved, you never know. The three of them could get together after school every day to scheme."

"Bucky, people don't scheme in real life. This isn't a spy movie. Why are you so reluctant to accept him?"

Bucky sighed heavily. "I don't know. It just one more thing that's different from before, I guess."

"Hey, this is a good different," Steve reminded him. "Minus one bully, plus one friend."

"I guess so."

"Just give him a chance, will you?"

"I'll try."

It took a while, but Bucky succeeded in letting his guard down, much to Steve's relief. Brock told Steve in private about how excited he was that Bucky finally seemed to accept him into the group.

Squeezing in three treatments a day on top of a bustling school schedule was exhausting, but he managed it. He had to. Despite that, Steve couldn't have been happier with how things were going.

Cue a particularly virulent flu season and Steve's shitty lungs to ruin that peace.