Since so many people were excited, I thought I'd post these sooner rather than later. This one today and part two tomorrow! Quick timeline reminder: the Rogers didn't move to Brooklyn until Steve was 5, so before that he was treated at a different hospital. I just wanted to make that clear because not everywhere has a pediatric dept as awesome as Gravesen's. Also, as I warned, this chapter and the one that follows are not particularly pleasant.

Love Sticks Part I:

Joseph awoke with his heard pounding. The sound that greeted his ears was worse than any he'd ever heard. Worse than the rattle of machine gun fire or the forceful whump of an IED exploding. The cacophony of war paled in comparison to this singular, piercing wail.

He ripped the comforter back and nearly fell out of bed in his haste to do something to stop the screaming. But he didn't even know what was causing it, didn't even want to imagine the things that could elicit such a sound from a child. Joseph sprinted down the hall and flung open the door to his son's room. Steve was curled up in a painfully tight ball in the center of the bed that had just replaced his crib mere weeks ago, scream crying with such force that Joseph thought the picture frames on the walls would start to rattle.

He rushed forward and attempted to wrap his arms around Steve to comfort him, but the second he jostled him the slightest bit he only screamed louder. At a loss, Joseph settled for resting a hand on his back and rubbing what he hoped were soothing circles. With his other hand, he felt Steve's forehead for any sign of fever. Something had to have caused this level of distress, and Joseph only wished he knew what it was so he could stop it as soon as possible.

He tried asking, "What's wrong? Where does it hurt?" but Steve either couldn't hear him or couldn't bring himself to stop crying long enough to answer. Joseph staved off the panic licking at the back of his mind like flames and tried to decide what to do. Sarah would know instantly how to handle this situation, but she was working a night shift and wouldn't be back until eight in the morning. He considered calling her, but there was no guarantee she'd be able to answer in the middle of a shift, and it would require leaving Steve to go find his phone.

Joseph looked more closely at the way the toddler had both arms firmly wrapped around his middle and concluded it was almost definitely a stomachache. He stood up long enough to fetch a trashcan and leave it within arm's reach, and in those five seconds that he wasn't beside Steve his cries intensified. Hurriedly, he replaced his hand. "Shhh, you're okay. Take deep breaths." He could feel Steve trying to do so, lungs heaving beneath his steady hand, and he offered every encouragement that came to his mind in the hopes that it would eventually calm Steve down enough that he could explain.

Joseph didn't look at the clock during that time, too afraid to take his eyes off his son, but it felt like hours before his screams quieted to sobs and then finally sniffles. He didn't know if the pain had eased or if Steve had just exhausted himself, but he was relieved either way to no longer be assaulted by the sounds of his son in so much pain. "Do you have a stomachache?" he asked when he thought Steve was calm enough to actually answer.

"Yeah," he mumbled, voice scratchy and hoarse.

"Is it any better than it was before I came in here?"

"A little."

"Okay." He could work with a little. Joseph kept rubbing circles on his back as Steve ever so slightly uncurled. Over two hours later, he fell asleep, but Joseph stayed up and didn't leave the room until sunrise. Hopefully, this was just some crazy twenty four-hour virus and Steve would feel better when he awoke.

At seven thirty, he called Sarah, knowing she'd be on her way home from work by now. When she picked up, he heard in the background the unmistakable hustle and bustle of a hospital. "Why haven't you left yet?" he asked.

"Margaret called in sick and we have nobody else to cover for her. I'm staying here until three this afternoon."

"A sixteen-hour shift?!"

"It'll be fine, Joseph. Twelve-hour shifts are the norm in a lot of hospitals, actually."

Joseph wasn't worried about Sarah overworking herself, he was worried about his ability to care for their son without her. He could handle the daily stuff, CPT and pill-dishing and all that, but when Steve really didn't feel well, he always reached for Sarah. She was just better at this. "Steve's sick," he told her. "That's why I'm calling."

"Sick how?"

"He woke up in the middle of the night screaming because his stomach hurt. Finally fell back asleep a little while ago, but I don't know what's causing it."

"Does he have a fever?"

"No."

"And he's been acting normally the past few days?"

"Yeah. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes. It could just be some weird bug. Keep an eye on him and if things get worse, take him in."

"Okay."

"We're pretty swamped here, so I don't think I'll be readily available by phone. But you got this."

He wished he had as much faith in himself as his wife clearly did. But if he could pull himself up by his bootstraps for anybody, that person was Steve. He hung up the phone just in time to hear a whispered call of, "Daddy?"

"Yeah, buddy?" he asked, returning to the room just in time for Steve to make good use of the trashcan he'd left by his bed. It was bad, to say the least, Steve's heaving barely leaving him time to breathe. Joseph tried his best to be a comforting presence, but he worried that he fell desperately short. For nearly half an hour, it never seemed to stop. Steve would catch his breath and pause just long enough for Joseph to dare and think it was over, before he was right back at it again.

When he finally persisted for twenty minutes without vomiting, Joseph offered him some water to both wash the taste out and hopefully rehydrate. It didn't stay down for long, and ultimately accomplished nothing but giving Steve something else to expel besides bile. He started to suspect this wasn't just a stomach bug. His suspicions were confirmed when Steve's next round of vomiting brought up a dark, tar-like substance. Instinct told him to call the doctor.

"Has he been taking his enzymes?" was the first question he asked.

"Yes. Hasn't missed a single dose."

"Hmm. I still think it could be an obstruction. Take him into the hospital for x-rays."

"Okay."

With a renewed sense of urgency, Joseph got ready to leave. He bundled a woozy and listless Steve into the car and set off. Steve suspected nothing, despite Joseph's palpable anxiety. Driving this route usually meant clinic, something he'd done many times and handled with as much grace as a toddler could. He hadn't heard Joseph's phone conversation with the doctor, and Joseph had barely heard it either over the sound of Steve retching and dry heaving in the background. Neither of them had any idea what awaited them.

Joseph glanced in the rearview mirror to see Steve's head lolling and eyelids drooping with exhaustion. Swallowing back nervous nausea of his own, Joseph drew on every ounce of soldierly courage he possessed. But this was a very different battle than any he'd ever faced before.

Steve threw up once more in the parking lot and again while waiting for x-rays. They had to repeatedly remind him to stand straight in front of the machine because he kept curling in on himself in an attempt to ease the pain. It didn't take more than a cursory glance at the images for them to confirm the doctor's suspicions. Intestinal blockage from malabsorption and mucus production. He heard one of the techs mutter that it was one of the worst ones she'd ever seen, especially for a patient so diligent in taking his enzymes. Joseph wracked his brain trying to remember any time recently when he or Sarah had forgotten them, but there was none. They'd done everything right, yet here Steve was.

"It's not your fault," the doctor assured him without any prompting from Joseph. He must've looked guilty enough for him to notice. "Even with enzyme replacement, these things happen. CF doesn't like to play by the rules."

Steve curled up in Joseph's lap while the team laid out the game plan. He got clingy when he was under the weather, that much Joseph knew from nearly three years of parenting. Joseph tried his best not to tense up as he learned just what the next day or so would entail. They wanted to flush him out from both ends: an enema, and then nonstop laxatives through an NG tube until the blockage cleared. Joseph swallowed grimly and resisted the urge to just pick Steve up and run away so he didn't have to endure any of it—and so Joseph didn't have to watch.

He tried to call Sarah while a nurse started an IV to help replenish Steve's fluids, but she didn't answer. Joseph left a message explaining the situation and stopped talking before he could add, "Please get here as soon as you can; I can't do this by myself." He put down the phone just in time for them to invite him back to the procedure room to help keep Steve calm. They wanted to avoid using medication if possible because he needed to be conscious and coherent enough to swallow the NG tube, and many of the medications they would've used had the possible side effect of constipation and they didn't want to risk worsening the blockage. If Steve heard and understood anything that was said, he showed no signs of fear of what was coming. Either he didn't understand, or he was far braver than Joseph could ever hope to be.

The enema turned out to be the easy part. Steve curled up on his left side with his knees to his chest. Joseph offered one hand for him to hold, and gently ran the other through his hair. It was over before he knew it, and Steve didn't protest more than the occasional whimper of discomfort as his intestines filled with fluid. The NG tube was another story. Steve sat in Joseph's lap, and he could physically feel the kid's muscles tense up as he watched what the nurses were preparing. For the enema, all the work had been done behind him, and he could focus on Joseph, but now it was the opposite—Joseph was behind him and he could focus on nothing but the hands on his face and the equipment before him. Joseph gave his bicep a reassuring squeeze and whispered in his ear, "You got this."

Steve straightened his shoulders, and God, this kid was just unbelievable. Joseph had cried getting his flu shot every year until he was ten. His amazement quickly turned to trepidation as they started advancing the tube and Steve's grip on his thumb turned iron. Joseph counted the seconds, knowing any of them could mark the end of this step, when everything went to hell.

One of the nurses slipped him a straw and told him to drink to help the tube go down, but the first sip of water triggered his vomiting again. She yanked the tube back out and got a basin to him just in time to prevent a worse mess. Joseph felt every violent heave of the little body pressed up against his, and he didn't think it would ever stop. When it finally did, the nurses gave him a ten-minute break before trying again. Steve spent that time hugging Joseph's forearm like a teddy bear, head resting against his chest.

The second attempt was no better. She only got maybe two or three inches into his nose before he started hurling again. Joseph didn't understand how there could even be anything left. The nurses' sense of urgency increased. As soon as Steve went five minutes without vomiting, they came at him again, back to the nostril from the first attempt. Steve wasn't having it this time. His resilience had been ripped to shreds by the trauma. Per the nurses' request, Joseph placed a strong (and hopefully reassuring) hand on Steve's forehead and held him tight against his chest. He didn't dare look down at the tight look of frustration and betrayal on his son's face. Luckily, Steve didn't lash out with his arms or legs to escape. Joseph didn't think he could handle having to restrain him any further.

"Sweetie, you've gotta swallow," the nurse prompted. Miraculously, Steve complied. "It's in!" she announced and Joseph wanted to cry. They quickly double checked its position before stringing the first of many bags of medicine from the IV pole and connecting it. They taped the tube to Steve's cheek and then promised him no more pokes or tubes for now. Steve quite literally deflated in Joseph's lap. He tried to curl up on his side, but one of the nurses stopped him. "He can't lie flat," she explained to Joseph. "It's an aspiration risk. Keep him reclined thirty degrees or more." She demonstrated thirty degrees, and then finally, finally, let them be.

"I don't like it," Steve whined, the L in "like" sounding more like a W. His face twisted in discomfort.

"I know, buddy," Joseph sighed, running a hand through his hair. "But this is what's going to chase all the bad stuff out of you."

"Okay." His head fell back onto Joseph's chest and within minutes he was asleep. Joseph took what felt like the first breath he'd taken in the last hour. Both of his feet were dead asleep from the weight of the toddler in his lap, so he ever so carefully lifted Steve off of him and laid him against the raised bed. Steve didn't stir. Joseph rubbed some life back into his limbs and took a quick lap of the floor to get his thoughts back in order.

That was easily the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. He wanted to collapse from the weight of it, but if he caved there would be no one there for Steve. Joseph would never let that happen.

Steve slept for two blissful hours. Joseph left another message for Sarah with an update, but didn't give too much detail on just how harrowing the process of getting the NG tube in had been. When Steve awoke, the first words out of his mouth were, "Daddy, I don't feel good."

He was quick with a placation. Maybe too quick. "I know, buddy, but you're alright. It's going to start working soon." Joseph had never lied to his son, and he really hoped that comment didn't eventually prove to be the first.

A nurse came in to switch out his IV bags, and the mere sight of her made Steve latch onto Joseph like a louse. She shot him a pitying look and went about her task. Just as she finished hooking up the new bags, Steve released his grip on Joseph long enough to reach for the basin at the foot of the bed, into which he promptly threw up everything they'd just pumped into him.

And the tube.

He didn't notice it immediately, too distracted by continued heaves, but Joseph saw the spark of panic ignite in his eyes the moment he did. A tiny, flailing hand wrapped around the end now sticking out of his mouth; Joseph instinctively knew that pulling on it was a bad idea, and he was the only one close enough to stop it. In his rush to prevent disaster, he ended up locking his own hand around Steve's forearm so tightly that the toddler yelped. Joseph immediately loosened his grip and pried Steve's fingers off of the tube. The nurse thanked him profusely, but her words passed right through him. He didn't deserve thanks. He'd just hurt his son, when there were already so many other things causing him pain.

Sarah would have done better if she were here. But Steve was stuck with Joseph. His only source of comfort in this terrible place was a man who'd just literally made him scream in pain. Joseph wanted to disappear. He probably would have, mentally, if Steve's wailing hadn't yanked him back to reality.

The nurse was futilely trying to calm him down so she could safely pull the tube, but Steve wasn't having it. He was practically hyperventilating with the force of his sobs. Joseph did everything he could, but Steve was inconsolable. He just held him still while the nurse pulled the tube from his nose. He watched in morbid fascination as the end that had been in his stomach retracted back into his mouth and disappeared, then reappeared from his nose as she finally got it out. Once it was gone, Steve only cried harder, burying his face in Joseph's shirt. Joseph wrapped his arms around his quivering form and held him tight. Yet again, he resisted the urge to just up and walk out of here. Despite all the suffering contained within these walls, Steve needed to be here. And it sucked.

When the sobs finally quieted, his shirt was soaked through with tears, snot, and what he suspected was liquid laxative that had dribbled from Steve's nose. Joseph took a deep breath. He needed help. His phone sat on the table beside the bed, just close enough that he could grab it if he stretched. The instant Joseph took his hand off Steve to reach for it, he made a sound like a wounded kitten. He immediately returned his embrace and the whimpers quieted. He sighed in defeat. Sarah probably wouldn't have answered anyway. It was just him and Steve.

The last round of vomiting had left Steve even more dehydrated. They started another IV line in the back of his other hand, and he didn't even flinch. Joseph didn't think he or Steve could survive any more, but the blockage was yet to clear. He knew they'd be back eventually, either to try again or to propose another, likely even more horrible option.

Over the next hour, he tried every so often to reach for his phone to call Sarah, but Steve cried every time he broke contact to any degree. Joseph had nearly fallen asleep himself when they returned. "We're going to give this one more try before considering another option."

Joseph nodded grimly. At the sound of footsteps and trays being laid out on tables, Steve roused. He rubbed his eyes blearily, then stared at the double IVs with wide eyes, as if he had no recollection of how either got there. Joseph placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "That's twice the super serum," he joked, afraid that Steve was seconds away from losing it or ripping out a needle. Steve didn't so much as crack a smile. Joseph adjusted their position so the nurses would have access to Steve's face—and then Steve saw the new tube.

"No!" he screamed. He twisted around and grabbed fistfuls of Joseph's shirt, bashing his head against his chest so hard Joseph let out an involuntary, "Oof."

"No, no, no, no, no!" The shrieks continued, each one punctuated by Steve practically trying to drive himself through Joseph's ribcage. "Daddy, please! Go home!"

Joseph ran a hand over his son's straining back and willed himself not to cry. "It's okay," he assured, and yep, that was officially the first lie he'd ever told Steve. Nothing about this was okay. "We've gotta get this done before we can go home." He wanted to go just as much as Steve did, but he knew that wasn't an option. Knowing that this had to be done one way or another, he closed his eyes and pried Steve's hands from his shirt. One of his fingers met blood; Steve's struggles must've dislodged one of the IVs. Steve's screams reached a deafening crescendo as Joseph, against every parental instinct he possessed, manhandled him into the correct position and restrained his flailing limbs. He was mostly incoherent, but just as Joseph thought he finally got a handle on him, Steve shouted the phrase that broke him.

"Help me!"

Joseph's strength evaporated in an instant. He switched his grip from a restraint to a bear hug. Steve burrowed right back into his chest, tangling his fists so tightly in the fabric of his shirt that Joseph felt it stretch out, and his broken voice keened, "Daddy, please help me."

Joseph shook his head at the nurses watching him expectantly. There was no way in hell he'd let them touch him in this state of anguish. They nodded in understanding. One of them said she'd consult the doctor for a next course of action, and with that they both left. Steve didn't notice their departure, still whimpering, "No, no, no."

"Shhh," Joseph hummed. He rocked himself back and forth the way he used to when Steve was a baby. "It's okay. Nobody's gonna hurt you." And there was another lie. Joseph had racked up more today than he had Steve's entire life prior.

"Go home," Steve reiterated.

"I know, buddy. Soon," Joseph promised.

"Now." If possible, he clenched his hands even tighter. At this rate, it was only a matter of time before Joseph's shirt ripped entirely.

"Not now, buddy. I'm sorry."

"I don't like it."

"I don't either. But we can't leave until you're better."

Steve didn't respond verbally, just let out another heart-wrenching sob. Joseph despaired. Sarah would know what to say, what to do to make this better, but he wasn't Sarah. He was just Daddy. All he could do was hold him and whisper reassurances until his sobs quieted.

He put a finger to his lips when the nurse returned nearly an hour later, this time accompanied by the doctor. Steve didn't see them come in, his face tucked into Joseph, and he didn't want the kid to see people in the room and freak out again when he'd just finally calmed down. They told Joseph in hushed voices that at this point, the benefits of medicating him outweighed the risks. Joseph immediately nodded his approval.

Steve heard the new voices despite the whispering and turned his head to see the nurse had returned. The return of the frightened screaming was instantaneous. "No, no, no! Daddy, please! Help!"

"They're just giving you some medicine to make you feel better," he promised. He felt dirty for saying it, because that's exactly what he'd said about the laxatives through the tube. Steve dared glance up at the nurse for half a second, before hiding his face away in Joseph's chest so she couldn't reach it. "They don't need your nose for this one," Joseph explained. "Just your hand."

The nurse approached slowly and reached for Steve's hand with the intact IV. At first, he resisted, but Joseph coaxed him into letting her take it long enough to shoot the contents of a syringe into his bloodstream. She moved to his other hand and removed the dislodged needle, the site already sporting a spectacular bruise. Joseph took a deep breath and shuddered as he exhaled. "'M tired," Steve mumbled against his chest.

"Good," Joseph sighed. Within minutes, Steve went pliant in his arms. He wasn't asleep, just loopy enough to go along with them. The sight of the tube still managed to unleash a swell of primal fear, and Steve struggled weakly as Joseph held him tight so the nurses could get to work.

"No thank you," he said quietly. Joseph wanted to both laugh and cry at the politeness replacing the terrified shrieks of earlier. Steve whined wordlessly as they once again marked up a tube, lubricated the end, and advanced it through his nostril, but he tolerated it. Much to everyone's relief, it went down on the first try.

"That was amazing," the nurse told Steve. "You're such a trooper." She taped it to his cheek and hooked up the meds. Steve said nothing. He collapsed back against Joseph and curled up once more. Joseph wrapped his arms around his son and prayed that this time the fucking tube would stay where it belonged.

Steve fell asleep a little while later, and while he was out a nurse replaced his torn IV with one in the crook of his elbow this time. The bruise on his hand from the previous one bloomed such a deep purple it was almost black. Joseph nearly fell asleep right along with him. Then his phone rang. Racing to answer it before it woke Steve, he extricated himself from the tangle of toddler limbs on top of him and swiped to answer without even glancing at the name. He slipped out into the hallway and uttered a croaky, "Hello?"

"Joseph?" It was Sarah. "I just got off work and I'm on my way over. How's it going?"

Joseph said nothing. He let his back hit the wall, his knees give out, and he slid downwards until he hit the floor. Then he wept.

Sarah didn't say a word, but she stayed on the phone until she got to the hospital. Joseph suddenly heard his own cries coming both from himself and through the phone at the same time. He looked up and she was there at the end of the hallway. Joseph knew his face must look a mess, and he glanced down at his shirt which was now almost certainly stained permanently with a variety of substances.

Sarah extended a hand and lifted him to his feet, only to wrap her arms around him and cradle the back of his head with her hand. Joseph buried his face in her shoulder and cried some more. But the longer he spent locked in her embrace, the better he felt. He sniffled powerfully, wiped his eyes and nose, and stepped back.

"Is that blood?" she asked as she took in the disgusting collage that was his shirt for the first time.

"Yeah. Steve, uh…ripped out an IV."

"Oh Joseph, what happened?"

"A lot," he sighed. "But he's finally asleep, thank God."

Now that Joseph had calmed down, Sarah redirected her nursing energy to her son. She dragged Joseph behind her as she stepped into the room. Steve slept on, completely exhausted from the day's ordeals. Sarah planted a kiss to his forehead and sat down beside the bed, tutting quietly. "There's a reason I don't work in peds," she said. "It would hurt my heart too much."

"No kidding," Joseph huffed. When the room fell quiet, he could hear echoes of Steve screaming and begging. He'd never forget that sound for as long as he lived. While Steve slept, Sarah asked him to tell her what happened. He took a deep, shaky breath and launched into the story, starting from the moment they walked through the hospital doors. Sarah took his hand in hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze when he got to the worst part, and afterwards she hugged him so tightly it hurt.

"You are such a good dad," she assured him.

"I sure don't feel like one. What if he remembers this? How I hurt him?"

"With any luck he won't remember this. He's probably too young. But if he does, I'll bet you the only part that sticks with him is the love."

"You really think so?"

"Yes, I do."

Joseph knew better than to argue with her. He sat down on the edge of Steve's bed and tucked a stray lock of hair back into place. The agony of the past eight hours made him appreciate the peace of this moment all the more. Steve slowly blinked his eyes open and locked his gaze onto Sarah. "We goin' home?" he asked groggily.

"Not yet, buddy," Sarah said. "I just came to say hi to my brave boy."

"Hi," he said curtly. He rolled over and reached for Joseph, whose heart did a cartwheel in his chest. After everything, Steve still sought him out, even with Sarah right in front of him. She shot him a knowing smile as he stretched out on the bed and let Steve burrow into his side. Joseph knew he'd never forget the pain of this day, but the love would definitely stick with him.