Erskine leads Steve through the hallways and back into the art building. They enter two large double doors and Steve suddenly feels nervous as 9 pairs of eyes flick up to look at him.

"Dr. Erskine, welcome, is this who you called about?"

Dr. Erskine turns to Steve and smiles, "yes, this is Steven. He was in my program two years ago, and I believe he'd be an excellent addition to your class."

The woman looks at Steve and raises her eyebrows.

"Okay, three things. One: why did you miss the deadline? Two: how old are you? And Three: what's your weapon of choice?"

Steve feels stunned for one second before he swallows and takes a deep breath, "uh, I missed the deadline because I…" he looks around at the complete strangers around him, people he doesn't want starting off knowing by their pity, "I received some not great news and forgot. I'm 17 years old, and are you asking what art tools I use or an actual weapon I would prefer?"

She doesn't blink, "both."

He takes a second to look around, "I'm best at oils. But I prefer charcoal. And my weapon of choice would be a…" he looks up and sees the litany of old fashioned weapons hung up around the top of the room. The ceilings are high and he can see every sort of tool. And that's what they are. Not just weapons, they're tools. And he knows he's not being asked a simple question. "Is this a test?"

He sees Erskine smile at him, and the teacher looks at him seriously, "yes."

"I would use a shield."

The surprise on her face makes Steve smile.

"Why?"

"I don't like fighting. But if someone needs defending then I'll do what I can."

There's a beat of silence before the teacher smiles and looks back at the students sitting at their art desks.

"Okay. One last thing. You said you're 17. You know you technically have to be 18 to take this class?"

"I saw that in the requirements," Steve responds, "but if it's because it's a heavy load or time consuming, I promise I won't let you down. I can't take this class next year with my senior year schedule, so I need to take it this year."

"Steve, right?"

"Mhmm."

"You have to be 18 because this is the Art of Drawing Life. All parts of life. Including life models. Art always pushes the boundaries. And in this class we do that. Each student in the class is expected to model."

He's processing her words and he can feel the blush creeping under his collar.

"So, it would have to be unanimous with my students. That, as a minor, if you were here, we would have to… let's say censor the models a bit. As the teacher I'm fine either way. But those who made the deadline would have to all agree. They deserve priority in choice. I would also need your guardian's permission."

His eyes dart to the floor, "I don't want to change your syllabus or plans. I didn't realize—- I should have known about the minor thing. I'm sorry."

He's about to back out when a girl sitting at one of the art stations speaks up. "Professor? I don't mind." Steve glances up and the girl smiles at him. "Truthfully, I was kind of intimidated to be naked anyways." She laughs, "minorly censored works for me."

"I don't mind either." Another kid, further in the back says. "He seems cool. He should be here."

Steve feels his eyes widen in surprise as the rest of the class agree to have Steve and the variation to their life models.

The teacher looks at him and smiles softly, "Okay, Steven, my name is Professor Sif. Welcome to the Art of Drawing Life."

He glances up at Erskine who nods and he looks back at her. "Thank you, Professor. I won't let you down."

And she looks at him seriously, "I believe you."

And those words stick with him as he goes to take his seat.

He ends up next to the girl who spoke up first. He looks at her and extends his hand, "I'm Steve, thanks by the way."

She takes his hand, shaking it firmly. "I'm Hope. Don't mention it. You saved my skinny ass from being totally on display."

Steve feels a surprised laugh leave his chest and the girl smiles at him.

"Okay." The Professor says, clapping her hands, "we've gone over the syllabus, Steven you'll receive yours after, and now, for the last hour and a half of class we're going to start off with a classic. Self portraits. We will do one at the beginning of class, and at the end. See the progression or style changes. You may choose any medium you'd like. Begin."

Steve looks at the wide range of supplies, the hustle of the people around him, and the smell of acrylic and canvas. He smiles and gets to work.

—-

Bruce waits outside the classroom door, and when Erskine exits alone, he smiles. "He made it in?"

"Of course he did." Erskine responds with a smile, "something about that kid makes people drop their defenses."

"Hmm." Bruce responds. They enter back into the Science complex and walk to his office. "Dr. Erskine?"

Bruce turns to see one of Erskine's interns.

"Yes, Ms. Carter?"

"I've finished with the spinner and the Vertical Audit, is there anything else you need from me tonight?"

"No, my dear, thank you. You're free to go."

Bruce watches as she turns to leave but she stops at the doorway, turning her head, "Dr. Erskine?"

"Yes?"

"There was someone else up here, in your office, maybe 20 minutes ago… is he a new lab worker?"

Bruce feels the beginning of a smile on his face, before he squashes it. Dr. Erskine is shuffling through papers when he responds, "Hmm? Oh, you mean Steven? Glasses and Blonde? No, no, he's not a scientist. He's in the Art class happening now. Mr. Banner and I knew him from the summer program he had just stopped by to say hello."

"Ah." The girl responds before looking down the hallway, "good night."

Bruce lets out a chuckle and Dr. Erskine looks up, "what?"

"Oh nothing." Bruce says, "nothing at all."

—

Natasha waits, sitting on the wooden steps, chewing on a red vine when the front door opens. She looks up to see Steve walking in, carrying a large leather folio and… smiling.

"Steve?"

He looks up and smiles at her, "Hey Nat." He tease soff his jacket and hangs it by the door in his spot. Removes his shoes and picks back up the folio, "everyone upstairs already?"

"Yeah, it's late, weren't you supposed to be back at like 7:40? It's 9p.m.! We texted you!"

Steve looks at her, eyes magnified behind the glasses. "I dind't feel it vibrate…" he pats his pockets and then checks his jacket, "uh-oh." He looks up sheepishly, "I think I left it there. I put it in a drawer so I wou;don't get it covered in stuff."

"Steve." Natasha sighs, "you have to be careful, I worry when you don't answer."

He ducks his head, but he can't keep the smile off his face, "don't worry, I'll grab it Thursday."

"Why are you late? Didn't it end at 7?"

"Mhmm." Steve says, walking past her on the stairs, "but I needed to talk to the professor after class to make sure I understood everything on the syllabus."

"Okay, just… maybe let us know when you're gonna be late."

And with that, he chuckles and looks at her, "I'm 17 Natasha. I'm not a kid, and you're not my mom. I texted Sam I would be late." He stands there, waiting for her response with his eyebrow raised.

She rolls her eyes, "you know we worry about you."

"Why?"

That throws her off guard, "why what?"

"Why do you worry about me? What's there to worry about?"

And she sees the Steve she hasn't in a while. Stubborn and willing to stand up for himself.

"You know why." She snaps back softly.

"I don't actually." He says making his way up the stairs and forcing her to follow, "I was in an art class, not much heart strain there. I have my inhaler. The brothers are locked up right now. So what's to worry about?"

She doesn't get to answer as he enters the room.

"Steve!"

"Hey Pete, how was school today?"

"So good! I learned about—"

Natasha sits on her own bed, watching Steve smile and be relaxed and at ease. Something she doesn't think she's seen for months.

Maybe there isn't anything to worry about.

—

And that's how October goes. None of them say it out loud, but Steve is almost back to normal. He laughs and jokes with them and he eats a bit more.

He comes home on Tuesday and Thursday nights practically beaming, with that huge leather folio in his hands.

Clint comes over for dinner one night and comments to Natasha how much less stressed the house seems and Natasha nods, "I don't think Steve really understands how big of an impact he has on everyone. He's like our…" she tries to come up with a word. "I don't know… But when he's happy, so is everyone else. When he's down, the other kids adjust. I think it was a coping mechanism from their time with Mrs. Schmidt. Like they trusted him to keep them safe. If he was quiet, they were quiet. If he was relaxed…" she trails off, realizing how much responsibility was on his shoulders during those years. "It's been largely unnoticeable since Sam took over. But the younger kids aren't dumb, they may not have known something was up with Steve recently but they knew something was up."

Clint nods and they eat and watch as Steve tells a story he heard in class the day before that has Wanda and Yelena giggling.

—-

Tony glances up at the clock for the thousandth time. He only has 20 minutes left of this class period before he gets to go home for Fall Break.

The bell dismisses the class and he hops into his already packed car, driving the few hours home.

"Jarvis!" He calls out as he enters through the back door, "anyone home?"

"I'm in the kitchen." He hears the familiar voice call back.

"Eh, Jarvis, there you are! Happy to have me home?"

"Ecstatic sir, your parents' flight was delayed but they should be in before midnight. I'll bring them home from the airport."

"Thanks, let me go drop my stuff off and I'll be right back."

He walks to his room, dumping his duffle bag on the floor and slipping off his shoes. After yawning, he enters the bathroom and walks to the toilet, lifting the lid and the seat up so he can pee.

But his hand freeze on his belt buckle.

Why the hell is there dried blood under his toilet seat?

His need to pee forgotten, he practically bolts out of his room and to the kitchen. "Jarvis?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Who's been in my bathroom?"

The man looks at Tony with a fond eye roll, "your request to have the maids 'stay the hell out of your room and stuff' has been strictly enforced. No maid or housekeeper has entered, cleansed, or 'moved' your belongings since you left. I can assure you."

"No, no." Tony says huffing, "someone had to have used my bathroom."

Jarvis blinks at him, true concern growing on his face, "I can assure you that your parents have no need or desire to use your bathroom instead of their own. Are you concerned that one of the staff is using your bathroom irresponsibly? Do I need to alert Mr. Stark?"

Something like dread settles in the pit of Tony's stomach. The day he left was the day they were all here when Steve and bucky got suspended.

And Steve needed to use the bathroom.

"No." Tony chokes out. "No, it's fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

—

Bucky looks at his outfit. "I mean, it's cool." He says to Natasha who's on FaceTime. "But no one will get it unless we're together."

She laughs, putting on mascara in the mirror, "we will be together, we're gunna be trick or treating together."

"Are we sure going out the night before the trial is the best idea?"

"Clint's right. Keeping his mind off of it is the best idea."

"He still won't tell you?"

"Nope. He's been in Sam's room getting ready this whole time."

"That little sneak." Bucky says ruefully, "he always manages to have the coolest costume."

"He is an artist." Natasha says with a laugh. "He's good at this stuff."

"Okay," Bucky says, straightening his bow tie, "I'm heading over."

"See you soon." She says before blinking off his screen.

"I'll be back around 1a.m. Mom!" He calls as he exits the door, "love you!"

"Be safe!" She calls back, "Have fun! Tell everyone I said hi!"

"Will do!"

—-

Clint watches from the stone steps as Bucky rounds the corner in a tuxedo. He whistles and Bukcy looks up and rolls his eyes, laughing. Then he sees Clint, "are you… Robin Hood?"

Clint laughs, "yep! Thinking archery's going to be my new thing. They're opening a range at work and I've been practicing."

"Just don't shoot me."

"You're one to talk, James Bond."

"I'm Mr. Smith," Bucky groans. "See, I told Natasha, we have to stick together." At his words, the door opens and Natasha steps out in a sleek black dress, hair pin straight and makeup perfectly done.

Both boys gape at her and she smirks, "do I look okay?"

Clint whistles and Bucky nods, "you look amazing."

"Thank you. As do you. And… Robin Hood?"

"Yep!"

She laughs, "that's a good one."

A car turns on the street and draws their eyes. It pulls up and squeezes into a spot. They watch as Tony exits, dressed like a 1940's dapper gentleman. Complete with hat and cane. But he doesn't look happy.

"Hey, Tony!" Natasha calls, "you look great!"

He nods, "where's Steve?"

"I'm here." They look up to the front door where Steve stands, an apprehensive smile on his face.

Four mouths drop open in shock. Steve has painted his face and arms and clothes to look like he's stepped out of an old comic book. Dots and black outline cover him and gives him the coolest effect.

"STEVE!" Bucky shouts bounding up the steps, "you look amazing!" He's about to grab Steve's shoulder but Steve yanks back.

"Don't touch." He snaps. "It took forever, don't ruin it."

Bucky laughs, pulling his hands back, "roger that."

They each gush about each other's costumes an appropriate amount before the conversation settles down. And Clint notices that Tony has been oddly silent. He looks over to find the man staring at Steve.

He gives a questioning look at Tony, who shakes his head imperceptibly. Later.

Okay. That's… that's not a good sign.

—

The night goes well, despite his misgivings about Steve.

Tony watches like a hawk. But the kid seems in good spirits. He seems more healthy than he was almost two months ago when he saw him last, laughing and joking and not so teenage pouting.

"How's school been?" He asks Steve.

"It's good. Normal. I hate math, I don't know how you do it."

Tony laughs and shrugs, "born a genius, what can you do."

Steve rolls his eyes and gets an excited look in his eyes that Tony can't ignore, "what? What is it?"

"The art class I'm taking? You know the one at the college?"

"Yeah?"

"It's so cool. It's really made up my mind about college. I'm definitely going to art school."

"Oh yeah? What's so great about it?"

"Just, the teacher's really cool. She's strict but like… good. She has expectations that are high, but attainable, you know? She knows what she's talking about. And my classmates are cool. Super chill. College must be really cool, is it?"

The eager eyes on Tony's make him soften a touch, letting some of the concern go. "Yeah, Steve, college is cool. You're gunna love it."

Steve nods as if he knew that was the truth and Tony reaches out, gently poking his ribs, "you seem happy, any particular reason?"

Steve looks up, "huh?"

"You seem happier, there a girl in that class I need to know about?"

And even in the dark of the street lights Tony watches as Steve's cheeks tint. "Oh you're lying!" He crows, "Steve! There's a girl!?"

His shout makes the other three whip around with eyes wide and Steve's already magnified eyes grow wider, "No! Tony shut the hell up! There is not a girl!"

"You blushed Stevie, the blood vessels don't lie!"

"There's not!" Steve practically whines. "I'm not talking to anyone." And the way he emphasizes that makes Tony smile.

"Oh, ho, ho ho, so you guys aren't talking, but you are definitely looking."

Bucky, Clint, and Natasha are closing in, listening to their conversation. He watches Steve shift tracks.

"There's this girl in my class, she's super cool, her name is Hope Pym. She's really nice, she's taught me a lot about perspectives and sizing in art. And then this other guy, his name's Gabe, he's really good with clay and I made a bust the other day. It was really cool. I've really liked the experience."

Tony lets the conversation morph, but he keeps a pin in the 'there's a girl' conversation. Because he's never seen Steve blush in reference to a girl like that before. So she must be really something.

"Wait…" his brain short circuit. "Pym? Like… Hank Pym?"

Steve looks up at him, "who's that?"

"Hank Pym! The famous scientist, my dad has worked with him."

"Oh really? That's cool."

"Yeah, they don't get along super well, but smart people usually don't."

"That why we get along with you so well?" Clint jokes, "you're dumb enough to be our friend?"

They dissolve into bickering after that.

—

Bucky notices Steve shiver before anyone else. He looks at the clock. 11p.m.

"Hey, how about we go to that little cafe near the subway stop? Get something warm to drink?"

They must catch on because they all agree to leave their trick or treating path.

—-

They enter the 24 hour cafe. Tony orders an espresso. Clint and Bucky order coffees and Natasha orders a hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.

They look at Steve who looks kind of pale. "Steve?" Bucky asks, "you want something?"

He shakes his head and he looks down at his candy bag. "I think.." he whispers. "I think I ate too much candy." He sets his bag down and they can see him try to stay calm, "I'll be right back."

He disappears behind the bathroom doors and they look at each other.

"I hope he doesn't throw up." Natasha says softly as they settle into their table. "I'll have to call Sam."

Tony's head pops up, something making his sense prick. "What are you talking about?"

Natasha glances up, "maybe mid-September, Steve was getting sick a lot, he had food poisoning or something or the stomach flu, and he wasn't telling Sam and Sam got mad about it. So he asked me to let him know if I heard it happen again. It's been awhile though. I guess it is getting colder. Steve always gets sick in the winter"

Tony looks at the three of them. "And none of you thought to tell me about this?"

Clint's brow pulls down, "what did you want us to say? Hey Tony, how's college, oh by the way, Steve got the stomach bug? He gets sick all the time, why would we—"

Tony's standing up, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

They all look up in surprise, "what?" Bucky asks.

But he's gone, striding towards the bathroom and slamming through the doors. He enters and sees Steve, washing his hands.

"Tony? You okay? You look—"

"Steve? Did you throw up?"

A look of sheer panic crosses Steve's eyes before disappearing instantly, "huh? What? No, I- I, uh, just needed to go pee."

"You're lying. You're a terrible liar."

"Tony, what?"

Bucky and Clint appear in the mirror and he can hear Natasha huffing outside the door.

And he wants to press. But the kid in front of him looks like he's prepared to face the firing squad instead of opening his mouth again. So Tony relents. "Never mind." He pushes out of the bathroom and sits heavily on the booth seat.

And the happy atmosphere is gone.

They sip their drinks in relative silence.

—-

Steve trudges tiredly up the stairs. He can barely keep his eyes open, but he has to wash all this paint off.

He waits till Natasha's finished getting cleaned off before he steps into the bathroom. A few smudges here and there, but he'd made it through the night relatively unscathed, his costume had held out really well.

He turns on the shower and steps under the hot spray, letting the heat take off the top layer, but eventually he has to start scrubbing.

He tries not to picture the suit that's hanging next to his bed that he has to put on tomorrow. He just suds up his skin and hair, trying to get the paint off.

He yawns and decides to fill the tub, let his skin soak. He closes the drain and settles back into the warm water as it starts to raise.

He blinks, tiredness overtaking him.

—

Natasha wakes to shouting.

She jolts up and notices the other kids doing the same, she glances around tiredly until she hears the pounding and shouting coming from the hallway.

She tumbles out of bed, sliding out the door to find Sam standing in a puddle and pounding on the bathroom door.

"Steve!" His voice is hysterical, "Steve, open this door!"

Natasha lets out a shriek of fear and Sam's turns to her, "keep the kids in the rooms!" He orders before pounding on the door again.

She nods and goes to shut the door where other curious eyes are starting to gather.

"Get back inside." She says softly but firmly. She feels a hand in hers and looks down to see Peter.

"Where's Steve?" He asks, fear in his eyes. She doesn't have an answer, just the sound of Sam slamming his fists against the door.

—

A resounding crack echoes through the house and Natasha points a threatening finger at the crowd of kids, "stay here!" She orders before running out of the room and finding the splintered door that Sam must have kicked through.

She looks into the bathroom, her heart stopping, to find Sam dragging Steve's body up from the bottom of the tub, water, paint, and soap swirling together around her feet as it trickles past her and down the stairs.

She steps forward, her bare feet soaking in the cooling water. Sam already has Steve on the ground, administering CPR. He's talking, a constant stream of reassurance.

"Come on, Steve. Come on. Breathe with me. Wake up, buddy. Don't you do this to me. Come on, you can do it, breathe for me." He breathes twice into Steve's mouth before resuming the compressions on his chest.

Natasha's standing there, face frozen and heart pounding, "Sam?" She squeaks, "what do I do? Should I call 9-1-1?"

"I already did." He says, breathing heavily, trying to keep his composure, "call Sarah. I need her here to teach the kids." She nods, flying back to her room and grabbing her phone.

"Natasha?" Yelena asks, "what's going on?"

"Stay here. Keep all the kids here." She says, not answering. "Call Bucky, call Clint! Call Tony." Her sister nods, grabbing her phone.

"What do I tell them?"

"To track my phone." She says, "come to where I am."

Yelena looks surprised but doesn't question it.

Natasha walks back into the bathroom and her hands shake at the sight of Steve's unconscious form, memories, flashbacks of another time. But Sam isn't doing compressions. He has a hand held under Steve's nose. Speaking reassurances,

"It's okay, Steve. You're breathing. It's okay. Stay with me. You're gunna be okay. Stick with me, they're on their way."

"Is he breathing?" She asks shakily, as the line rings. Sam nods, and Natasha hands him her phone.

"Sarah?" Sam says to the phone, eyes on Steve, his other hand resting on Steve's chest, feeling as it rises and falls, "I need you to come over. Yeah, bring Cass and AJ, that's fine. They can sleep in my bed. I don't know. I — Steve— Okay, thank you. Thank you."

Natasha looks up as she hears sirens approach.

Sam hauls Steve into his arms and carries him down the stairs.

—

Bucky wakes up to the fifth phone call. He groans and swipes it open. "'Hullo?" He says with a yawn.

"Bucky?"

He feels the fear through the phone, "Natasha?"

"No, it's Yelena. She asked me to call you."

He sits up, rubbing his eyes, looking at the clock, it's only 1:45. He saw her maybe not even an hour ago.

"What?" He asks, swinging his legs over the bed, "what's wrong?"

"She just told me to tell you to track her phone but…" she pauses and bucky can hear other kids whispering in the background, her voice turns to a whisper, "I think it's about Steve, Ms. Wilson's here and I heard a siren."

Bucky is out of his bed, throwing on a shirt and stumbling down the stairs to his parent's room.

—

Clint dashes through the door, hair sticking straight up and his hoodie on inside out.

He spots her and runs over, Bucky's beside her, holding her hand and Tony's standing rigidly against the wall.

"This is some shitty dejavu" he spouts, getting their attention. "What happened?"

Natasha shakes her head, her throat tight, "he went to take a shower, he said he was gonna wash all the paint off, but then I went to bed… Next thing I know Sam's breaking the door down and pulling Steve out of the bottom of the tub-" her voice cracks and Bucky pulls her closer.

Clint's about to ask more questions when Sam walks out, "guys." He says, "he's awake."

—

Steve lays there, eyeing the door. Sam had said they were all there. He groaned and asked if he could wait to see them til morning and Sam had sighed, "that's your choice."

And Steve had sighed and sunk back deeper against the pillow, "fine. They can come in."

Now he waits. The door creaks and he looks up. Four silent figures enter his room and stand close to his bed.

He looks at them and they look at him and he ducks his head, "sorry."

"What happened, Steve?" Natasha asks him, "you told me you were going to take a shower?"

He grimaces, "it started as a shower, but… I couldn't get the paint off, and I was tired so I sat down and tried, but I decided to soak in a bath instead and I… I guess I fell asleep."

"Fell asleep and drowned?" Tony asks sharply, "most people would wake up the minute air passes through their nose."

His voice sounds weak even to him, "I was really tired. I'm sorry."

Sam walks in and looks at the rigid expressions on their faces. "Okay, Steve let's get some rest and you guys can see him tomorrow when he's back home. Go get some sleep. The trial is still…" he looks at his watch, "today."

The mention of the trial freezes the air and the dismissal is clear.

The file out, with weighted looks and barely whispered 'goodbyes'.

Natasha gets into Bucky's mom's car and she looks out the window as they drive.

"How are we going to leave next year?" She asks.

Bucky doesn't respond.

—-