A/N: I haven't had a ton of free time the past couple days, but I'm still working on these! This one is only loosely tied to the prompt, but once I figured out how I wanted to utilize 'sword', I fell in love with this idea.

Day 24 | Steve, Eddy | Rated: T

Sword

When Steve felt his knee pop, his second instinct after crying out in pain was to get angry. He was always getting angry. As soon as he felt something he couldn't process any other way, he'd get pissed off – zero to a hundred in less than a minute.

That's how he got kicked off his high school football team the first time. "Unsportsmanlike conduct" was just another way to say he'd clocked the opposing team's quarterback in the face for talking shit. Now he was gonna spend his second chance on the bench with an obliterated knee, watching that dude and others like him snag all the scholarships.

It was funny how many different thoughts could run through your head in a single second. As his coach knelt at his side and pulled his helmet off, he knew without medical confirmation that he'd be out for the season and likely miss the World Championships too. Judy was probably already calling Max in; she was always looking for a reason to bring the prodigal son home.

The paramedics arrived next, always on hand at events like these. One of them had patched up his knuckles when he'd made the quarterback taste blood. Now they were stabilizing his neck to load him on a gurney. When they touched his leg, he swore as a sharp pain lanced through his knee and slammed his fist down onto the AstroTurf. It didn't hurt enough to distract him.

Everything was a blur once the ring of teammates around him opened up and he was carried to the ambulance. His knee was so swollen that they had to cut it out of his football pants. When they made it to the emergency room, there was a doctor who came to test his range of motion and subsequently ordered more tests when Steve cussed him out through the pain.

They came in the next day with his official diagnosis: torn ACL. Surgery was recommended with the severity of his case and Steve was more angry than sad. He was downright pissed when they told him the soonest available date wasn't for another month.

"What am I supposed to do for a month with a bum knee?!"

They set him up with a brace, crutches, and a physical therapist. His instructions were to use the first two to keep his knee suspended and still unless told otherwise by the latter.

When he was finally permitted to leave the hospital, he hobbled into a cab and headed to the only place he could think to go that wasn't home. He let himself into the PPB building with his key card at a back entrance. He didn't need to be stopped by curious employees or trainees in the lobby only to be asked questions that would make him feel even more like smashing something with one of his crutches.

He couldn't avoid the questions forever, though. When he finally made it to the All Starz private training area and let the door slam shut behind him, he heard the telltale sound of a basketball bouncing away.

"Dude!" Eddy's shock was unmistakable as he stared slack-jawed at Steve. "What happened?!"

"My ACL is toast, man." It was the first time he'd said it out loud so explicitly and it sucked as much as he'd imagined it would. He sat down heavily on a nearby bench and let his crutches fall to the floor with a clatter. "I'm down for the count for Worlds."

There was a reason Eddy was his favorite teammate. When the two of them weren't working together to rile up opponents, Eddy was a calming presence. He took a seat beside Steve and rested his elbows on his knees. Everything about him was long and sinewy next to Steve's own stocky build.

"That's tied for the worst news I've heard all day," Eddy sighed, tangling one of his hands into his newly bleached hair. The eyebrows were a step too far and Steve had told him so. Eddy being Eddy, had shrugged it off and told him just because he wasn't cool enough to pull it off, didn't mean it was too far. "Championships are taking pairs again this year."

"What, because it worked so well for them last time?" Steve asked, happy to have somewhere else to redirect his frustration, if even for a second. The All Starz had been notably absent from the previous World Championship tournament.

"Well, you're allowed more than two on a team," Eddy amended. "Anyone who doesn't make it just sits on the bench with their thumbs up their asses, I guess."

Steve was angry on his teammates' behalf. He had no clue what kind of game the BBA was playing, but he and his team had worked hard to build skills outside of their technological advantage over the past years. The thought of any of them attending a tournament just to sit on the bench was laughable.

"Guess you should be glad I'm not in the running, then," he said derisively, scuffing his good foot against the ground and making his sneaker squeak on the polished floor. "You've got that much more of a chance."

"I'd rather warm the bench with you than watch Judy parade Max around as the hero of the All Starz."

Steve whipped his head around so fast that he got dizzy for a second. The doctors did say he likely sustained a minor concussion with that last tackle, too. Everyone had been more worried about his knee at the time – he didn't recall anyone saying for sure.

"What?!"

"Judy's already reaching out to him," Eddy confirmed, fingers flexing against the bench like they were looking to dunk his basketball. "Even Emily seemed put out, and you know she worships the ground Judy walks on."

Steve's blood was boiling at the injustice of it all. Not only was he going to miss the tournament, but he might not even be able to cheer on his teammates. Judy had some audacity training all of them to represent their country only to call up her baby boy the second she thought he might not get enough time in the spotlight.

It felt like the entire world was caving in on him in one day, and all he could do was sit still and not move his knee.

The door swung open and the familiar clack of heels on hardwood signaled their coach's arrival. The two of them turned in tandem to watch Judy walk in, eyes glued to her clipboard and hair pulled back into a low ponytail.

"Eddy, Emily and Michael are upstairs getting some power readouts. If you could head up–" She stopped abruptly when she saw Steve. Her eyes traced the triangle between his brace, his crutches, and the hospital bracelet lingering on his wrist. "What happened?"

Steve clenched his fists and growled, "I'm benched this season, but I guess that suits you just fine."

Judy's blue eyes widened.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Steven."

"And I'm sure you do!" he shot back, white hot, probably misplaced, rage coursing through his veins. Eddy placed a hand on his shoulder that he shrugged off to stand up. He was wobbly on one foot and had to lean into the bench, but that hardly mattered. "What's the deal with running all of us so hard in training and then calling Max in as a replacement as soon as a tournament is announced?"

"Nobody is being replaced," she responded. She probably assumed Eddy was where Steve got his information, because she was addressing him as well. "I'm making sure Max knows he has options. It's up to him to choose whatever he decides is in his best interest."

"What a load of bull!"

"Steven, I'm not arguing with you about it. I know you're upset–"

"You don't have any idea how I feel!" he snarled, clenching his fists. Despite his injury, he managed to take a menacing step closer to Judy to really drive his outrage home. He couldn't have been that convincing, but she took a reflexive step back that made a drop of shame settle in his stomach.

"Steve, buddy." Eddy was standing beside him now, both crutches in one of his hands so the other could hover nearby, ready to catch Steve if his balance gave out. "Relax."

It was easier said then done when his heart was hammering in his ears. If he didn't shout, he might start to cry angry tears and he wasn't going to give anyone that satisfaction ever again. Judy and Eddy were both staring at him like they were waiting for the other boot to drop. He couldn't take their suspicious gazes lined in fear for what he'd do if he really flew off the handle.

Roughly, he yanked his crutches out of Eddy's hand and hobbled out of the room.

The taxi ride home was short and not so memorable, backed by the chorus of notifications as someone – probably Eddy – tried calling and texting him over and over.

He was grateful to be by himself when he got home.

His mother had rushed off to work a double after checking him out; she needed to make up for the hours spent sitting with him in the hospital. If this had happened before the divorce, he would have endured a loud lecture from his father about how he'd eaten up their entire insurance deductible in one day. As it was, he was long gone and Steve could collapse into bed and know he wouldn't be woken up by shouting.

In the weeks that followed, the other All Starz joined in on Eddy's onslaught. He ignored all their phone calls, but read a lot of the text messages. He didn't see them off when the three of them went to warm the bench for Max and Rick, Steve's official replacement. He knew from the texts that none of his friends were fond of him or the tournament format.

"Judy said being an All Star is like being an Olympian," one of Eddy's voicemails sarcastically said. "Even if you don't win the gold for your team, you're still the best in your country and should be honored to be a part of it." A pause and then: "You have no idea how badly we wish you were here."

Twice a week, Steve went to physical therapy in an attempt to do something for his knee while he waited for surgery. It felt pointless and left him in pain. Instead of feeling sorry for himself, he let himself get angrier and angrier at everything: the pain, the idiot that tackled him at the exact wrong moment, the World Championships, the football scholarships he was missing out on. The list went on and on.

It made Steve tired, being so angry about so many things at once.

It was three days before his surgery when he got a call from his mother. She never called from work and his curiosity turned to rage when he found out why: the hospital had overbooked themselves and were pushing his surgery back another ten weeks.

He threw the phone against his mirror and shattered both of them. When that hot, bitter dose of satisfaction wasn't enough, he put his fist through the wall.

His mother came home early after the abrupt end of their phone call and cleaned up the glass. Steve watched, not much help when he couldn't kneel, and saw his dad's face reflected back at him in the shards. He wouldn't sleep that night.

It wasn't a surprise when he found himself in his therapist's office before the week was out. He'd started seeing her when his anger issues became a problem the first time and had seen some improvement. He wasn't convinced that was all her, seeing as his dad had moved out around that time, but he'd caused enough damage the other day that his mom wouldn't take no for an answer.

The first few sessions exhausted him more than anything. He didn't want to talk, especially about things that were dead and gone and buried. However, she seemed to think there was some root to his anger that had nothing to do with the series of injustices that he was currently suffering. So she pried until he got angry, talked him down, and tried again in the same godawful cycle.

Between her and his physical therapist, he spent his time being too tired to fly completely off the handle, so maybe it did kind of work.

As he left physical therapy one day, he turned on his new cell phone to find another voicemail from Eddy.

"Hey, dude, good news: I'm convinced you have to be having more fun than we are. Thanks to Rick, we get booed every time we walk into a stadium, Max keeps stopping off to visit his old Bladebreaker pals, and Judy still won't let the rest of us blade." There was a pause and then a rustle, and in a quieter voice he said, "Sorry to hear your surgery got pushed back by the way – that totally bites. Call me if you want. I'll be on the bench."

Steve waited until he got home where he could elevate his knee, and then called back before he could talk himself out of it. Eddy picked up almost immediately.

"Hey, man!" he answered the phone like Steve hadn't spent over a month ignoring him, which was pretty solid of him. Steve could already breathe easier. "What's up?"

"Just icing my knee and thinking about how much it must kill Michael to not be universally adored." He actually cracked a smile at the thought, his first genuine smile in weeks, as Eddy cackled from the other end of the line. It sucked they were all having an awful time, but at least they had each other to vent to.

"Hang on, I'm gonna tell him you said that." Eddy's voice was muffled as he parroted Steve's sentiment to the third member of their trio. Michael was too far away for Steve to tell what he said back, but thankfully Eddy did his duty and told him, "Michael says: 'Fuck you, how's the leg?'"

"Hurts like a bitch and is pretty much worthless, thanks for asking."

"I'll just give him a thumbs down."

"Where are you guys at?" Steve asked. He could hear the noise of cars and crowds in the background. If he didn't know any better, he'd think they were back in New York.

"On our way back to the hotel," Eddy answered. "We just finished eating. Judy wanted to talk to Max and Rick about strategies against the Blitzkrieg Boys or something, so the rest of us bounced."

"What, even Emily?"

"She gave Judy her recommendations and claimed to have a headache." The teasing lilt to his voice probably meant he was elbowing Emily as he spoke, trying to get a rise out of her.

"Must be pretty bad if even Emily's checking out," he said, running a hand through his hair. He could feel water trickling down onto the pillow propping his knee up, but he wasn't willing to try juggling his crutches and his phone all at once just to refreeze his ice pack.

"Rick's an arrogant jerk and Max tries to be nice, but Rick pushes his buttons and we're all too pissed Mommy's Little Angel is taking up a slot on the team to give him a break," Eddy elaborated, summing up a dynamic Steve was happy not to be a part of. "We did get real Italian gelato when we were in Rome though, that was pretty dope."

Steve snorted and said, "Glad it's not all bad."

"What about you?" Eddy asked, never missing a beat. "Any highlights?"

Steve let out a long sigh and launched into an explanation of what he'd been up to since he saw Eddy last. A phone upgrade because he smashed his last one in a fit of rage probably wasn't exactly what Eddy had been expecting when he asked for the highlight reel, but he listened and validated the misery of Steve's situation at all the right points.

"Sounds like you're really going through it, man," Eddy said, sounding genuinely sympathetic.

Steve grunted his acknowledgment. His temper had lost him plenty of friends over the years and he was beyond lucky that Eddy wasn't one of them. Despite his speed, he was good at slowing down to listen and he delivered honest advice that hit harder than Steve on his best days. He knew he was in for a healthy dose of it when he heard him tell Michael and Emily to go on ahead.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Steve," Eddy began, ignoring the exasperated groan he let out at those words, "but I think you need to give that therapist chick a chance."

"That's your takeaway?" he asked and scrubbed a hand over his face.

"You said you're pissed all the time," Eddy continued like he hadn't even heard Steve's interruption. "The whole point of the shrink is to help you deal better, but if she can help you get over where it all comes from in the first place, isn't it better not to be mad at all?"

Steve hated that he had a point.

"You really suck."

"Hey, watch what you say – I'm practically an Olympian, you know."

He laughed in spite of himself.

And at his next appointment, he followed his therapist down the rabbit hole because what else did he have to lose?

He'd been looking forward to calling Eddy back and rubbing his bad advice in his face, but instead, bit by bit, things began to change. His anger was still there, but slowly he came to realize that it was more of an armor than a genuine feeling. Deep down there were vulnerable emotions and ugly things they stemmed from that needed dealt with.

When he began the process, it was weird how much lighter he felt without the constant weight of rage on his shoulders.

He answered more phone calls now and actually texted back when his friends reached out. He tuned in to his first match since the World Championships began and watched his team fight to the end against the Blitzkrieg Boys. He knew Kai stuck up for them because of Max, but he hoped the audience would take it to heart and go easier on the All Starz from there on out.

He even accepted his football coach's invitation to join him on the sidelines for a game or two. Donning his jersey again felt damn good, like coming home, and there was one college scout that introduced himself to Steve regardless of his injury.

Physical therapy didn't get any less painful as time went on, but his improved attitude made it feel like less of a chore. And when his physical therapist noticed his renewed vigor, he offered to show Steve some exercises he could do while he was down for the count that would help preserve his muscle mass as much as possible.

By the time his new surgery date came around, he'd grown to accept his injury for the double-edged sword that it was. That one major setback led to progress he hadn't realized he needed to make. And when the time came for him to pick up a football or launch his beyblade again, he knew he'd come back even stronger than before.

A/N: I did try to keep this contained as far as word count goes, but it kind of had a mind of its own. Just ended up being an idea I couldn't keep too short. Honestly feel like I could have made it twice as long, but I'm long-winded so maybe this is better anyway lol

I love the All Starz, and I totally feel for them in G Rev. It didn't hit me until one of the last times I watched their season one arc, but it's kind of horrible that Judy finally decides to focus on their skills and spirit instead of statistics, and then none of them actually get a chance to battle in the next tournament. I know Max and Rick earned their places on the team, but I can see why the others would be salty.

Anyway, I enjoyed writing this and fleshing out Steve's character a little bit and jumping through hoops to fill the prompt.

Thanks to anyone still reading! :)