Bucky VII: Stumped

Just as they had last time, Bucky's scans came back clean, and he and his parents could breathe again. Well, for these next three months until the next round. Dr. Potts was beyond pleased with how he was progressing with his weight gain and return to physical activity. Bucky, though still frustrated with his slow pace, felt a flicker of pride. He popped a celebratory "NED" text in the Avengers group chat and received multiple congratulations.

Midterms stressed him out to no end. Of course exams always made him nervous, but this time he felt the pressure infinitely more because it was his first attempt at real schooling since cancer. Bucky knew from his performance on quizzes up to now that in most of his classes he wasn't performing quite as well as freshman year—at least the part of it he was actually here for. Tenth grade wasn't notoriously harder than ninth, and he knew the difference could be attributed almost exclusively to chemobrain. Bucky often zoned out in the middle of lectures and occasionally forgot the explanation of a concept mere minutes after hearing it. Just doing his homework took far longer than it used to, both because he had to reference his notes to recall what they'd learned that day and because he couldn't focus on it for longer than twenty minutes at a time. And, of course, also because he couldn't flip through a textbook or journal while writing. Multitasking in general was nigh on impossible. Frankly, Bucky found this more frustrating than his lacking physical ability.

He didn't tell Steve that he felt so indisputably stupid that he probably wouldn't pass a fifth grade math test, but he did ask if they could study together for the classes they shared. The weekend before their first exam, he spent a few hours on both Saturday and Sunday afternoon at Steve's. Apparently, the ambient hum of Steve's Afflovest provided background noise that honed Bucky's focus. He nearly accomplished more in those half-hour chunks than the rest of the two sessions.

"Maybe you should get one for yourself," Steve joked.

"Maybe I'll just inherit yours next time you grow out of one."

"You think I'll grow enough to be too big for this one? Not likely."

"Yeah, of course. You're only sixteen. I'll bet you're one of those late bloomers who's got six more inches left in him that won't appear until college."

"I highly doubt it."

"Hey, you never know."

"Whatever. Back to algebra."

Bucky groaned, but returned to the problem set they'd been working through. By the time he went to bed on Sunday night, he felt marginally more confident that he wouldn't flunk fantastically. He woke up on Monday with a mild sore throat and nearly panicked, knowing he'd have to go back to the hospital if he got sick. It took him nearly three full minutes to remember that he wasn't immunocompromised anymore. After texting Steve to say they shouldn't go near each other today, he went about his morning as usual. Steve responded with a thank you, as he always did—as if Bucky needed to be thanked for doing his part to keep him out of the hospital—and wished him good luck on his exams. The pain wasn't significant enough for him to take anything, and he figured it was probably just a mild cold he caught from the locker room at school or something.

By the time he finished his first midterm of the day, he was exhausted and slightly achy. Okay, maybe it was a moderate cold. He survived the second midterm and returned home, grateful Mondays weren't a gym day for soccer. Bucky headed straight to his room for a nap and before he could even close his eyes, Mom descended upon him. "What's wrong?" she asked frantically.

"I'm fine. Just tired. I think I have a cold or something." The words had barely left his mouth before she was out the door. She returned moments later with the thermometer. "Mom, it's no big deal. You don't have to flip out about fevers now. My immune system works."

"I know, but humor me."

"Fine," he grumbled, opening his mouth to accept the thermometer. It beeped, proving he was not, in fact, feverish. Even if he was, it wouldn't be a crisis. Not anymore. Mom accepted this result, but she left the device on his bedside table instead of putting it away, suggesting she'd check it again later. Bucky would've rolled his eyes if he didn't have a brewing headache. He took a two-hour nap and awoke feeling, not one hundred percent, but at least better. As if she sensed his awakening, Mom popped back into his room.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he repeated. "I'm telling you, it's just a cold. These things happen in wintertime."

"I know, I just worry. You know this."

"Yes, I know this."

She offered him the thermometer again, and this time he did roll his eyes before accepting it. Still no fever. What would it take for her to believe him when he said he was fine? He ate his dinner without complaint, his appetite unaffected by whatever this bug was, but she watched his every forkful as if expecting him to hide it in his napkin instead of eating. Bucky was more bothered by her hovering than the actual illness, but he bit back a retort out of fear of getting in trouble.

By Wednesday, he reported no symptoms, yet Mom still peeked in on him every hour. He knew this because he started timing her. "Will you just chill out?" he finally snapped when she decided to check in twice in one hour. "I told you twenty minutes ago that I'm fine, and I'm still fine." As soon as he said it, he regretted it, awaiting the inevitable scolding, but it never came.

"You're right. I'm sorry," Mom said, and she stepped out, closing the door behind her. Bucky shook his head and returned to the amputee soccer video he'd been watching. He didn't hang out with Steve for the rest of the week, even when the other boy insisted it was probably fine. Bucky didn't trust himself around him until he'd been at least a week symptom-free, and even that wasn't playing it totally safe. Selfishly, Bucky didn't want to wait any longer than that. If Steve had his way, they would've reunited the instant Bucky felt normal, but especially now that his health hung so precariously in the balance Bucky knew he needed to exercise enough caution for the both of them. He refused to be the one who gave Steve a virus, one that potentially put him in the hospital or even killed him. Bucky would never forgive himself if he'd been responsible for that.

~0~

"You're getting shaggy," Dad remarked at dinner one night in late February. Bucky had just gotten out of the shower after a particularly grueling workout, and his hair was still wet. It had taken so long for him to escape the peach fuzz phase that he didn't realize just how long it had already gotten. Certainly nowhere near where it had been before chemo, but it was reaching the length where Mom had started to get on his case about it back when he grew it out the first time.

"Aww, this reminds me of the time you got your first haircut when you were little," Mom said.

"Who said anything about a haircut?"

"Oh, please tell me you're not going to grow it out again. You looked like a common ruffian."

"I liked my hair," he defended.

"I know you did, but now that you're older, don't you want something a little more…distinguished?"

Bucky considered this. Yes, he loved his pre-cancer hair, but that was just the thing. It was pre-cancer hair. That look reflected a time in his life when his priorities were very different. Maybe it made sense for his haircut to reflect that he'd changed. "Alright," he acquiesced. "I'll get a haircut."

Mom's eyes widened like she didn't expect him to relent so easily. Dad nodded his approval. That weekend, Dad took him to his regular barber and let Bucky explain what he wanted. He got it trimmed around his ears and in the back, but left it longer in the front so that it stuck up just a bit. For a first post-cancer haircut, he couldn't be happier. Mom kissed him on the forehead when he got home, and he let her. The fact that so much time had passed since his last chemo, enough that he'd actually needed a haircut, filled him with a sense of accomplishment. Every day really carried him farther and farther from that nightmare, and closer and closer to a new normal.

~0~

Not long after Bucky got his last midterm grade back—a B, which left him with a satisfactory midterm exam count of two As, three Bs, and one C, they got a call from Make-a-Wish confirming that Ulysses Klaue agreed to host him this summer. Bucky's eyes nearly bulged out of his head with excitement. He couldn't believe this was actually happening. He would get to spend an entire week in the Netherlands learning from the best of the best. Despite his eagerness to be back at school in a mostly normal routine, now Bucky couldn't wait for the school year to end. Three months remained, and Bucky already started counting down the days.

The day after he heard the news, he raved about it to his friends at lunch. "I get to go to the Netherlands for an entire week and he's giving me lessons on how to goalkeep as an amputee."

"That's awesome," Gabe said. "You're going to have the best time."

"And they're sending my parents on some fancy date in the meantime," he added.

"In the Netherlands?"

"Yeah."

"So…you're ripping off the Fault in Our Stars?" Jim asked with a wry grin.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "No. Gus had osteosarcoma, I had Ewing's. And he lost a leg, not an arm. It's totally different. And I'm not spending my wish on a girlfriend, I'm spending it on me."

"Fair enough. You'd better take lots of pictures so we can see."

"My mom's coming on this trip, so there will be more pictures than you could ever look at. She's probably going to get three whole scrapbooks out of one week alone."

"That would beat even my mom's record," Steve said. "The first time we went to the beach, she made two whole albums."

Gabe whistled. "Wow. Your moms are crazy."

"They feed off each other's energy," Bucky said.

"Maybe they're competing for largest scrapbook collection," Steve suggested.

"Maybe. I wouldn't put it past them. But your mom had a head start because you're eight months older than me."

"That might be true, but she'll have plenty of time to catch up when I die." Steve laughed as if it was a joke, but the other boys stared at him in shock. Bucky had never heard him casually mention his life expectancy like that, and it deeply unnerved him. Steve's laughter turned to coughing, and he clutched at the left side of his chest, covering his mouth with his elbow. Even by the time his coughs died down, everyone else at the table was still staring at him, dumbfounded. "What?"

"You…that was a joke?" Bucky didn't quite know how to react.

"Yeah."

"You've never joked about that before," Timmy said quietly.

"Oh. I guess not. It just makes it feel less terrifying, to make light of it."

"Okay," Bucky said. He sensed the rising uncomfortable tension around the table and wanted this conversation to end as soon as possible. "So, who's going to help me pack when Wish trip time comes around?"

"Why do you need help packing when you pretty much always wear the same thing?" Jim asked.

"I do not."

"You're wearing a Henley and jeans," Gabe pointed out. "What did you wear yesterday? A different colored Henley and jeans."

Bucky shrugged. "I like to keep it simple."

"I'll help, if you want," Timmy offered.

"Thank you, Timmy, for actually answering the question instead of making fun of me."

"You're welcome."

"I really hope Klaue is a nice guy," Bucky said.

"He agreed to host you for this trip, so he can't be a complete asshole," Gabe reminded him.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Man, I can't wait for this trip."

"Summer can't come soon enough," Timmy sighed.

~0~

After a subdued birthday last year due to his illness and the recentness of Carol's death, Bucky was excited to actually be able to celebrate this year. He invited all his friends from school plus Tony and Parker. The kid was hesitant to accept since he'd be the youngest among them, but Bucky promised they wouldn't baby him…too much. Bucky donned his "It cost an arm and a leg but I was able to negotiate" T-shirt for the occasion, which took place the weekend after his actual birthday.

"Fun fact, you were born on the sixty ninth day of the year," Jim had texted him on the day of.

Bucky had replied with, "Nice," and nothing more.

Steve texted him half an hour before the scheduled start time. "Slept in today. Have to squeeze in treatment before I come. Might be a bit late."

"No problem. See you soon." Bucky knew Steve had been sleeping later on the weekends. He trusted his friend not to push his limits too hard, but sometimes he couldn't help but worry that he was taking on too much. This year, Steve was doing things for SGA almost as often as Bucky had soccer practice.

Parker was the first to arrive, which didn't surprise Bucky. None of his friends were notoriously punctual. "Hey Parker!" he greeted. "It's been too long since we've seen each other in person."

"I know. It's crazy how different it is when we don't live a few doors down."

"I'm so glad you could make it."

"Me too. Happy birthday. Sixteen is a big deal."

"Yeah, I suppose it is. How are you?"

"I'm super." Parker's eyes lit up like Bucky had never seen. "Midtown is literally the coolest school ever. Everyone there is so smart."

"I'll bet you put them all to shame," Bucky said.

Parker blushed. "Not exactly."

"I have to ask you something." Bucky had spent a while wondering if this was an appropriate question to ask, but his genuine curiosity trumped his reservations in this case. "Which one of your dads is the worse hoverer? Steve and I both have hoverers for mothers, and I was wondering if you had a parent like that too."

Parker chuckled. "Definitely Dad."

"Which one?"

"Oh, right. I call them Dad and Daddell. Dad's mostly the hoverer. But he's a child psychologist, so I guess it comes with the territory. But Daddell definitely has his protective moments too."

"Makes sense."

Everyone else trickled in over the next few minutes, with Steve being only ten minutes late. Bucky rolled his eyes at him when he apologized. He still beat Jim. Bucky didn't invite Brock, which he could tell Steve resented, but he just wasn't ready to let the guy join them for everything they did. It was a pretty average get-together, as far as Bucky was concerned. Subdued, actually. In retrospect, he should have suspected there'd be more.

About two weeks after his birthday, he stayed late during his Friday training session with Coach Phillips at the man's suggestion. Though exhausted, Bucky felt an extraordinary sense of fulfillment. He'd hit a new personal record for bench-pressing. Of course it was nowhere near what most guys his age could do, but he could only use one arm obviously. The high-five he got from Coach was enough to leave his palm tingling.

When he got home, Mom didn't rush him at the front door like she usually did. Even though he usually smelled strongly of high school gym, she loved to greet him with a hug. This time, she was nowhere to be found. "Mom?" he called, wondering if she'd stepped out for some odd reason, or if something bad had happened. No answer. Bucky dropped his backpack by the front door and wandered further into the house. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

"Surprise!"

"Happy Stump-iversary!"

Bucky's eyes widened at the sight of his family and friends jumping into view. Stump-iversary? It took him a moment to recognize the date: March twenty sixth. One year ago today he had his amputation surgery. Wow. It hadn't felt that long, yet at the same time it seemed like he'd been one-armed forever. He glanced at the wall and saw the massive hand-drawn poster from his Farewell to Arms party back at Gravesen.

"Who kept this?" he asked, regarding the poster.

"I did," Mom said. "It's too beautiful to get rid of."

"And I was not about to draw another one," Steve added with a chuckle. "It took forever."

"You guys…I don't even know what to say."

"Thank you would be nice. I had to convince Coach to work you late," Gabe said with a playful punch to his arm.

"Did it really take that much convincing?"

"You try telling Coach he can't go home to his cat for another half hour."

Just looking around Bucky recalled memories of that party. They'd been together barely two weeks at Gravesen, the ten of them, yet they all got together for that event like they'd known each other for years. The shoe-tying race, the hand turkeys, the dancing. Bucky turned to Steve. "I don't suppose it's too much to ask for a repeat of last year's festivities? Particularly those involving music and moving?" He raised his eyebrows indicatively.

"Hell no," Steve stated. "I'll only dance in front of people again if you somehow manage to lose the other arm."

"Sounds like a deal."