Warning: descriptions of disordered exercise and eating habits.
What If...Bucky Never Had to Switch to Amputee Soccer?
James preferred fall. The end of summer break into first semester meant practice five days a week plus games on Saturdays. It meant two-a-days every Monday and Wednesday, regular feedback from Coach, and consistent improvement. During the season, with Coach and his teammates there to enforce a schedule, James never worried about skipping a day or falling behind.
Spring was another story.
Spring was off season. No games, no two-a-days, and way less time with Coach. He still hosted workouts for the team three times a week, but their intent was only to maintain fitness, not improve it. And if he wanted to get recruited into Major League Soccer by the time he graduated in a year and a half, James had to constantly improve.
So, he made his own schedule for springtime and relied on his own initiative to stay on track. He'd been doing this since freshman year of high school, and so many years of consistent training made it easy to slip into the pattern when soccer season wound down. Every morning, James woke up well before his first class and jogged six or seven miles to warm up. Then, depending on the day, he ran through a given set of strength, agility, reaction, and speed exercises. He had just enough time to change clothes and eat breakfast before class. Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, he attended Coach's training session in the afternoon. Tuesday, Friday, Saturday, he was left to his own devices. More often than not, he found a buddy willing to kick balls at him for an hour or so, but when he couldn't, he ran sprints or worked on his vertical leap.
Homework he fit in between workouts and in the evenings. Meals were in there too, somewhere, though sometimes he decided to go extra hard in the mornings and ended up prioritizing being on time to class over breakfast. He could always eat more later, but he couldn't make up for tardiness, and he definitely couldn't miss a workout. James knew soccer was an immensely competitive sport. All of his peers worked just as hard as he did during the season, and to set himself apart he needed to work even harder the rest of the year.
One evening, he returned to the suite building he shared with the other upperclassmen on the soccer team and found a text from Gabe waiting. He was inviting James and their friend Monty from high school to his cabin in upstate New York for spring break, since their time off school aligned perfectly this year. James was torn. He'd planned to spend the break taking advantage of the extra time to train, but he hadn't seen Gabe and Monty in months and he wanted to spend time with them. He mulled over it in the shower, letting the warm water soothe his aching muscles, and ultimately decided to go for it. Nothing stopped him from working out at the cabin after all.
He flew home after his last class on Friday, restless the whole way there. James hated sitting still for longer than an hour or so. Logically, he knew it took way longer than a few hours, but it was like he could feel his muscles atrophying from lack of use. His parents hadn't bought a new car after their last one finally died, so he took the subway and walked from the airport to their apartment in Brooklyn.
Mom opened the door and immediately wrapped him up in a ferocious hug. He'd been home at Christmas, so it hadn't even been all that long since they'd seen each other, but she was attached like that. "Hey Mom," he greeted.
"How was the flight?"
"Boring."
She scoffed. "James, you're always bored unless you're on a soccer field."
He couldn't argue with that.
"Your father's asleep, but I wanted to wait until you got here before going to bed. He'll say hello in the morning before you leave with Gabe."
"Okay." With the time difference, his flight hadn't landed until eleven o'clock eastern.
"Good night."
"Good night."
He waited until she disappeared into her room before dragging his suitcase into his room and cranking out a hundred push-ups. It wasn't enough to offset five hours of sitting on the plane, but there wasn't much more he could do without waking up his parents or their downstairs neighbors. James changed into sleep clothes, brushed his teeth, and attempted to fall asleep. His attempts failed. He couldn't stop thinking about the second workout he never fit in today. He couldn't stay still, tossing and turning trying to find a comfortable position, but his muscles never stopped aching for exercise. He wondered if this was what drug withdrawal felt like.
He'd solidified his routine so incredibly that to deviate from it felt like withdrawal. Awesome.
~0~
Gabe picked up Monty first, which meant James had time to squeeze in a workout before leaving for the cabin. He wasn't about to waste two days in a row, and he wanted to tire himself out for the three-and-a-half-hour drive.
"Did you just get out of the shower?" Gabe asked, referring to his wet hair when James opened the door ready to go.
"Yeah. I went for a run this morning." He didn't mention the forty minutes of other exercise he'd done. Gabe had always thought his routine excessive and made fun of him for it.
"You Stanford folk are nuts."
"And you Howard folk aren't?"
"Touché."
Gabe started towards the elevator at the same time James started towards the stairs. "Are you serious? This is the fifth floor."
James hefted his suitcase over his head. "I've got two working arms, I'm gonna use them."
"Race you down," Gabe teased. James didn't take him up on the offer, no matter how enticing. Running down stairs sounded like an injury waiting to happen. Still, the elevators in his building were slow enough that he only lost by half a minute.
"Yo! JB!" Monty's voice called from the open window of the backseat of Gabe's car. "Long time no see!"
"Right back at you!" James threw his suitcase in the trunk and took the shotgun seat. He didn't know why Monty hadn't claimed it, since he got in first, but he wasn't complaining. They spent the drive blasting Gabe's favorite music and talking about their semesters. It was great to catch up, but James was still relieved when they arrived at the cabin and he could stretch his legs. He immediately took a few laps around the wooden structure.
Gabe's family's cabin was certainly a step above camping in a tent, but it wasn't equipped with electricity or running water. Almost every summer and spring break since elementary school, he'd invited James and Monty here. Some of his fondest childhood memories had been made up here. Their first order of business after unpacking was to hike to the creek, about two and a half miles away. Every trip here started with a visit to the creek.
James took the long way, often jogging circles around trees to get extra steps in along the way. Gabe and Monty shook their heads at him like parents did at overexcited toddlers. When they arrived, they spent an hour just hanging out around the creek, jumping from rock to rock and trying not to get wet until it inevitably spiraled into Gabe trying to push them in. James managed to evade him, this time, but Monty got wet halfway to the knees.
The hike back was noticeably less fun because they were all exhausted. James's every muscle ached by the time they reached the cabin, and it was nearing dark. He wanted a shower, but he wasn't going to get it out here. Gabe lit a bunch of candles to light the inside. It was warm enough that they didn't need to get the fire going. James and Monty set up their sleeping bags on the floor of the main room, while Gabe took the bedroom. When they were younger, Gabe's parents took the bed and they all slept on the floor. Well, slept was a strong word. Usually, they stayed up giggling and roughhousing and telling "scary" stories. Tonight, James was so exhausted he fell asleep on top of his sleeping bag.
"Is there a certain someone back at Stanford who's been keeping you up at night?" Monty asked teasingly the next morning.
James smiled and shook his head. He didn't have time for a girlfriend. Gabe wasn't up yet, so James took this opportunity to go for a run. "Are you serious?" Monty asked.
"Yep. Gotta keep up the routine. Once it's broken, it's hard to go back."
He threw James's own pillow at him. "You're nuts. Enjoy your run."
"Will do."
James threw on his running shoes—the older, dirtier ones, because the terrain out here was nothing like the sidewalks back home or at school—and started jogging along the same trail they'd traversed yesterday. Two and a half miles to the creek and two and a half back made five. It was less than his usual distance, but he thought the rougher terrain probably made up for that. It certainly felt like it did. Less than ten minutes after he set off, the air noticeably cooled and dark clouds swept in overhead. James ignored it. When it started to rain, he ignored it. When it started to pour, he slowed down enough to place his feet carefully to avoid slipping.
He made it to the creek, and his every step was accompanied by a wet squishing sound. Every article of clothing on his person was soaked through, and he could tell the backs of his legs were covered in kicked-up mud. It reminded him of that crazy Spartan race his friend at Stanford once convinced him to do. He'd cleaned mud out of his ears after that.
James took two minutes to rest, then ran back. The rain didn't let up the entire way. He had a few close calls with puddles that were deeper than they looked, but he made it. When he returned, Monty flung open the door to the cabin and shouted, "What the hell are you doing?!"
James looked at the caked mud washing off his legs in the rain. "Washing up?"
"It started raining like five minutes after you left, why didn't you head back?"
"I wanted to run," he said simply.
"In this weather?" Monty had to shout to be heard above the relentless torrent of raindrops hitting the leaves and the roof of the cabin.
"It was fun!"
"It's also dangerous as hell. I was about two minutes away from coming to look for your stupid ass because I thought you tripped and broke an ankle or something."
"Nah, I'm fine."
With most of the mud washed off, he took off his filthy shoes by the door and let Monty drag him inside. James stood on the doormat, dripping water everywhere, while Monty scrutinized him. He dug around in the closet for a towel and handed it to him so James could dry off.
Gabe emerged from his room and stood, dumbstruck, in the doorway. His gaze started at James's feet and slowly dragged up his entire body until he met his gaze. Something in his eyes was…heartbroken? James stared back, unsure what to make of his friend's reaction.
Gabe sighed. "Oh Bucky…"
James scowled. Nobody had called him Bucky since he was maybe eight years old, except his mom when she was being infuriating. "What?" he asked bitingly.
They met each other's gaze, James's challenging and Gabe's still that inscrutable mix of concerned and…was that fear? Gabe shook his head and looked away first. "Nothing."
James internally heaved a sigh of relief.
~0~
The first game of his senior year season, James was beyond ready. He'd spent the end of junior year and the summer training as hard as he possibly could, and added an entire two inches to his max vertical leap. He could feel that he was quicker and stronger than ever before. Already, whispers of offers from pro teams drifted toward his ears, and he knew he'd blow them away this season.
During the second half, he could feel exhaustion licking at his every muscle, but he refused to let it devour him. If he could keep running in a torrential downpour, he could keep this up no problem. Not a single ball had slipped past him, and he intended to keep it that way. He succeeded…but only at the expense of his entire future.
With mere seconds left in the game, the other team shot towards the right corner of the goal. James leapt for it. He reached the ball with plenty of room to spare, catching it firmly instead of merely pushing it away with his fingertips. As he came crashing back to Earth, he landed right on the point of his shoulder and the world exploded. Something ripped and something else snapped all in the same instant and the agony whited out his vision. A tortured scream wrenched itself from his throat and he rolled to his back to take the pressure off. It felt like someone had driven a knife right above his shoulder blade and twisted relentlessly. He dared turn his head just enough to see, and bile raced up his throat when he noticed a bony protuberance atop his shoulder that definitely wasn't supposed to be there.
James learned in the ER a few hours later that he'd managed to both break his collarbone and tear the two ligaments holding it to his shoulder blade. One of the doctors called it the worst shoulder separation she'd seen in her entire career, unfixable without surgery and months of physical therapy. Worse, they told him the severity of the injury could be attributed to malnourishment and chronic overuse. His kidney and liver functions were far worse than they should be in a healthy twenty-one-year-old. In other words, he'd nearly worked himself to complete system shutdown, and nobody noticed until now, when it was too late.
He could kiss a soccer career goodbye.