Howard, Sam and Steve sit around the table, staring at Matt (call me Matt, he'd insisted) in awe. It's almost 2am the next morning. They're due in court at 8a.m.
"You're kidding." Sam says, "that easy?"
Matt smiles, "I wouldn't necessarily say easy. However, I would say solid." He points to a few documents, "there was a lot of context that they chose to ignore when they were constructing the 'story' they wanted the jury to believe. And the sheer disaster in which Mrs. Schmidt left the legal documents regarding Steve, including the obvious corruption in the county offices her husband had contacts in, there's a lot of loopholes they were trying to push Steve through, but I think we'll be just fine."
Steve eyes the documents, "I can't believe I didn't know about this." He looks at the paper citing the life insurance policy his mom had indeed gotten when he was a kid.
"I can." Sam huffs, "that witch who ran this house probably had every intention of getting ahold of your account and taking it for herself. Easier for her to do if you don't know about it."
Steve doesn't respond to that because he knows Sam's right. "So you said some of the money is missing?"
Matt nods, "Yes, someone forged your mom's name. Some life insurance policies, like this one, can be partially liquidated if the policy holder needs cash. Your mom had a few withdrawals from before her death for medical expenses, for you, I believe."
His throat gets tight and he nods, "I was always sick."
Matt nods, "that's perfectly fine, that's why these types of policies exist, to help with the financial aspect of emergencies. Nothing wrong with that. But since her death, the money was sitting, just accruing interest, in an account waiting for you to reach the legal age to receive it. Until right before the incident when a large sum was withdrawn. Unfortunately I can't pinpoint who had the access to withdraw, but I can show that it was forged. The signature matches Mrs. Schmidt's, who was your legal guardian at the time, but it's not a perfect match, it's a great forgery. So I have my partner, Foggy, going down to the prison today to see if she has any idea of who would use her signature."
Steve shivers, hating the thought of anyone having to talk to her. "What about the jury?"
Matt leans back, his white cane twisting between his thumb and forefinger, "they knew that getting that information to the jury would be a good way to try to unseat your case, and more importantly, your character. Every person I talked to, spoke very highly of who you were, how a deception like this could not have been in your character—"
Steve ducks his head, "I'm not—"
"Steve," Matt cuts him off, "you've made quite the difference in this small community alone, and I don't give compliments. So understand when I say, I took this case solely because of you. Now, we will obviously get the lies they spewed stricken from the record. Since it wasn't evidence that was submitted to us, it doesn't legally count anyways, But they knew that information would stick in the jury's mind. It's human nature. So we have to do some damage control. Easy enough. But I want you back on the stand. Can you do that?"
Anxiety grips his stomach, but he nods, "yes. I can."
"Good." Matt says with a crooked smile, "let's give those bastards hell, huh?"
Steve smiles, "yeah."
—
Steve stands and walks to the podium where he swears on the Bible again. He straightens his tie and glasses as he sits down, noting the smell of cleaning solution. He looks at the judge who looks at him curiously.
"I promise not to throw up again, sir." Steve says with a grin.
The judge nods sagely, "I'd appreciate it."
And then Matt stands up and they begin.
Matt walks Steve through his background. How he grew up with just a mom, what his mom did, and when she took out the policy. Then Matt asks Steve to describe his home life with Mrs. Schmidt.
When Steve is describing the times he was thrown in the basement as punishment, or starved, or abused mentally and physically, he can see Howard Stark gripping the edge of the wooden divider like he is going to tear it in half. It suddenly occurs to Steve that he's never gone into great detail about what she'd done to him with Howard.
Matt asks Steve to show his arm burn and explain how he received it. He asks about the other kids in the house at the time and Steve has a very easy time talking about them and what they mean to him. Matt seems completely at ease as he paces in front of the podium. His partner, Mr. Nelson, is a smiley guy who Steve had instantly liked for his kind demeanor. He sits in the chair at their table and listens as Matt begins to describe the paper trail at the county offices.
"We're going to examine the defense's wild and inaccurate accusation, even though they threw that into the jury's faces without following proper courtroom procedure. But, that makes sense doesn't it? Since everything they've done in this courtroom has been a big show to distract from the fact that—" he points to the Fleming brothers, "these two—" even behind his red lens glasses, Steve can see a sort of fury on his face, "boys kidnapped and tortured Steve, causing undue pain, stress, and permanent damage to his body." He points to Steve, "and you now know, as proven with the documents we've just discussed, that Steve in fact, did not pay to have this done to him. So you're looking at a kid who has suffered immeasurable loss, heartache, abuse, and torture in his short 17 years of life." He turns to Steve, "I don't say that to elicit guilt or sympathy. I don't say it so the jury will feel pity for you. I say it because it's the truth. And the Fleming brothers were part of that. Justice must be served for their actions. Their previous record stands for itself. Multiple B&E's, assaults, robberies, public disruption. What haven't they been caught doing?" He points at Steve, "while Steve sits there, a clean record and a target on his back because he turned them in years ago. So, jury. Let me be clear. You're not here to decide anything but the fact of whether they kidnapped Steve, carved letters into his back, tortured him, shoved him in a trash bag, dumped him into an industrial dumpster, and left him for dead."
Steve winces, but he knew this was the direction Matt was going to take. The direct and brutally honest shove the jury needed.
"You've seen the scars. You've seen the DNA evidence. Hell, we have the police reports from the warehouse he was tortured in and the dumpster. It's an irrefutable fact that these brothers committed these crimes. Don't let the defense try to tangle you up with lies and false accusations. Steve did not pay to have himself kidnapped. He did not pre-meditate his relationship with the Starks, and Steve did not want to be tortured for attention or money. Therefore you must vote guilty. It's the truth. It's the only option."
Matt turns back to Steve and gives him the barest of winks. For the first time since the opening statements, Steve feels the coil of anxiety in his chest start to unwind.
"Defense?" The judge asks, a deep annoyance clear in his voice. "Any questions?"
The man stands and tries to bluster back and forth about the validity of Matt's research and documents, but the judge eyes him narrowly and in the end the man sits down in a huff, "no further questions."
The judge allows for closing statements, and dismisses the jury reminding them that they must have a unanimous vote.
Steve is let out of the podium and he gets a hand on the shoulder from Matt and a fist bump from Foggy.
He feels a hand on his hair and looks up at Howard who just raps his knuckles gently against Steve's skull and says, "you did good up there kid."
"I didn't do much." He responds.
"You were you." Sam says with a wide grin, "that's all you needed to be."
He turns to where Bucky, Clint, Natasha, and Tony are standing and waiting. They just haul him over into a hug and then break apart. They're trying to stay light, but Steve can see they're all still preoccupied from the conversation last night. Steve knows he'll be fielding questions and looks for a while.
They're packing up all their things about ready to leave when the security guard walks back in, the judge following.
Everything goes silent as the judge addresses the now almost empty courtroom.
"While it may not be a decision made in record time, it sure is one of the fastest I've ever experienced," he says with a grumble. "The jury has deliberated and come to a unanimous decision."
The group looks at him in surprise and slowly sink back into their chairs. The brothers are walked back in, dark expressions on their faces and the jurors file in, one-by one.
The appointed foreman stands and begins to speak, "we the jury, unanimously find Tyler and Ryan Fleming guilty of—"
Steve feels his heart stop beating as the verdict is read out.
He's not sure how it happens, but one of the brothers lunges from his seat. A pen in his handcuffed-together hands, heading for his face. Steve leans back, unable to move fast enough out of the way, but Matt is on his feet, his fist catching Tyler's wrist, twisting it with incredible strength, and then kneeing him in the chest. When the brother doubles over, Matt grabs the scruff of his shirt and hauls him backwards, sending him sliding across the ground and against the judge's desk.
Steve looks up at Matt in shock, who's not even breathing heavily and he looks over to Foggy who just smiles, "that's Matt."
Sam's behind him then, hauling him into his arms to ensure he's safe as security pounces on to the two brother's hauling them out the hallway.
Steve's eyes are still on Matt who is just grinning and Steve feels the prickle in the back of his neck that Matt is more than he appears, but then he's distracted as hands grab him, hugging him, ruffling his hair, and shaking his shoulders to congratulate him.
It's a few minutes before it dies down and he looks back at Matt who is standing there with Foggy, smiles on their faces.
"Thank you." Steve says firmly, "thank you so much."
"Just doing what needs to be done." Matt responds.
"Stay safe kid." Foggy adds, as they gather their stuff and are gone.
Clint steps into the center and looks at them with a scrunched up face, "so we're just gonna ignore the fact that the blind guy caught his hand like that?"
"Maybe he's not totally blind?" Sam offers. Natasha shrugs and Clint just rolls his eyes before shouting, "Milo's! My uncle wanted us to come over after the verdict, let's go!"
Steve stops, and motions for Howard and Sam to wait. He shoos the other kids away, and when they stay close, trying to listen, he points to the door, face serious. They go, grumbling the whole way. And soon it's just the three of them in the courtroom.
Steve turns to Sam, "I just…" Steve starts, "I just wanted to say thanks. I know that…" he swallows thickly, his lips pursing as he tugs at the hem of the suit coat. "I know it's a lot you've had to deal with, with me, and… I'm just grateful that you have stuck around."
Sam looks at him, tilting his head, "that's what family does, kid. We stick around."
Howard taps on his glasses, "didn't I say you were going to have a hard time getting rid of me? You think a crummy court case and some teenage attitude was going to do it? Think again little soldier. You're stuck with us for the long haul."
Steve looks at Howard and his face get serious, " I think you should sell that skin company and get your money back."
Howard frowns, "why?"
"Because I don't think I'd do the scar thing even if you figured out a way—"
"What?" Sam cuts him off in surprise, "why not?"
"They're part of who I am now—"
"No." Howard says firmly, "They're not. You're not what those words say."
"I know." Steve says with an amused eye roll. "But pretending that part of my life didn't happen… I don't want to do that. But we're getting off topic. You paid for a security detail outside our home and didn't tell us."
"For your safety." Howard insists.
"I know," Steve responds, hands up in surrender, "but don't you think Sam should have known?"
"Don't you think your friends would have liked to know about your new—"
"That's different." Steve cuts in. "You doing the security detail and company stuff is for me or… because of me. Me not telling them doesn't affect them—"
"Actually—" Sam starts, "It does. They found out about it here, by that slimeball of a lawyer. Wouldn't you have preferred for them to hear it from you?"
"I'd have preferred for them to not hear it at all." Steve sighs.
"We're going in circles." Howard huffs, "you're saying you want me to tell you when I spend money on you?" He asks.
"I'm saying I don't want you spending any more money on me."
It's not what Howard expects him to say and he can tell by the way both Sam and Howard gape at him.
"Steve—"
"No." He cuts Howard off. "No matter what else that lawyer said, he's right about this. I don't deserve your dedicated time or money. If you're going to spend money on medical research, then spend it on something that helps a lot of people, not just me."
"Steve—"
"Howard. I'm serious."
"I don't accept." Howard's face is getting darker, "I'll do it anyways. Your blessing or not."
"And then you'll force me into treatment?" Steve asks, cutting him to the quick, "you'll strap me down and force me into surgery or treatment or whatever your big solution is?"
Howard's voice goes from angry to desperate, "we already talked about this Steve, you promised you wouldn't give up!"
"I'm not giving up." Steve says calmly, "I just…" he sighs and leans against the wooden table behind him, "I'm tired. I'd rather you find a cure for cancer or asthma, or hey, maybe you can figure out a solution to my heart problem, that will help a lot of other kids. But I don't want you doing it just because of me."
"Because you think for some reason you don't deserve it?" Howard seethes, "you're just one kid, so who cares if you live or die? Huh? Who are you in the big grand scheme of things? Is that what you're thinking? Well try again, because if you think I'm just going to sit on my hands when I could be doing something to help—"
"Howard—"
"NO." Howard shouts, pointing at him. "I care, Steve. I care whether you live or die. Sam cares. My son…" Howard pinches the bridge of his nose hard, "my son is many things. And many of those things he got from me, unfortunately. But we are not men who don't care. We care fucking deeply okay? So you can get off your humble horse and deal with the fact that I'm not going to stop." Steve opens his mouth but Howard keeps going, "if you refuse treatment—" Howard whispers pointedly, "fine. That's on you. But I'm going to do everything in my damn power to ensure there's options. I'm going to figure out a way to help you. And then if you want to look me in the eyes and tell me you'd rather die…" he purses his lips and Steve feels locked in his gaze, "then that's your choice. But it won't be for my lack of trying." He pokes Steve's chest gently, "I think you're so tired of the bad news that you're trying to give up hope now so it won't hurt so much later. But I'm not giving up hope. I will fix this. So stop trying to stop me from saving you."
"I don't need saving." Steve manages to rasp out.
Howard looks at Steve, hauling him into a hug that makes Steve's eyes prick. "Everyone needs saving sometime. Even you. Even me." Steve feels a hand on his hair and he swallows thickly, hugging the stubborn man back and grabbing at Sam's shirt and pulling him into the hug.
Sam huffs a laugh and joins, and Steve laughs softly, "I never got to really have a dad. Now I have two." He hears Howard's breath catch and his hands wrap around Steve tighter. Sam rests his chin on Steve's head and they stay there for a minute before Steve's stomach grumbles. "I'm hungry." He says with a wry grin, "let's go."
—
It's getting too cold to be on the roof, but they bundle up and do it anyway. They'd eaten their fill at Milo's, but Bucky's mom had made cookies to celebrate the end of the trial and verdict. So there they were, wrapped under blankets and hoodies and beanies, eating warm chocolate chip cookies and looking out at the stars.
They've been mostly silent and something about their willingness to wait until Steve's ready to talk makes his heart warm.
So he takes a deep breath and watches as his air puffs white and fades before speaking, "okay, what questions do you guys have?" Four pairs of eyes turn to him and he rolls his eyes, leaning back, his eyes staring up at the winter moon. "Come on, I know you have questions, and I'd rather get it over with."
"How long?" Bucky asks. Natasha and he are sitting close, his arm wrapped around her, "when did you know something was wrong?"
The wind chills Steve's cheeks and he sighs. "Maybe in March? I noticed my skin was being weird… Then my stomach started acting up."
"March?" Clint whispers.
"You know." Tony says with teeth clenched, "I specifically remember making a rule when you were still in that hospital bed over two years ago that you weren't allowed to hide this kind of crap from us."
Steve stays quiet. He had his reasons.
"How do you feel right now?" Natasha asks, her intense green eyes on him.
"I feel okay. Got my ulcers cauterized so that helped with the vomiting."
Clint's eyes are scrunched closed. "That's why you weren't eating."
Steve nods. "Not too much fun to eat when everything tastes like blood or will eventually be regurgitated."
"My dad knew everything?"
"Yep." Steve says.
"Peter? Wanda? Pietro?"
His voice gets quiet, "no."
Bucky's voice gets annoyed. "That guy at school. Scott. He knows something."
"He caught me throwing up in the bathroom." Steve admits, "helped me get it cleaned up. "
Natasha jumps in, "is it why you're tired all the time?"
"Yeah…"
"What is their recommended treatment? Are you doing it?" Bucky asks.
It takes Steve a few minutes to figure out how to say it, "the treatment to help the disorder would hurt my heart… and vice versa… So I'm kind of in limbo right now."
"Excuse me?" Tony whispers harshly, "you're what?"
"I'm taking the heart meds," Steve explains, "but it makes the exhaustion worse. I think that's why I passed out in the bathtub."
"And if you took the meds for the autoimmune thing?"
"Wear out my heart faster."
Suddenly Clint's standing, "should you even be out here in this cold?"
Steve winces, his fingers and toes had started to feel a bit too stiff, "probably not."
"Shit!" Tony exclaims, hopping up and dragging Steve off his chair, "get inside."
They hustle him down the stairs and into the warm house and wait till he's warmed up a bit before they all walk him across the street to his house.
—
Natasha and him enter the house and are surprised by loud shouting and confetti popping in their faces.
Shouts and giggles and hands ring around him as he gets dragged towards the living room. He gapes at the sight. Every blanket, pillow, and cushion the house possesses are arranged in a giant nest in the living room.
"We're having a sleepover!" Peter says excitedly, dragging him towards the middle. "Sam says you won your thing and that we should celebrate and we wanted to have a sleepover, are you excited!?"
Steve looks around at all of the kids gathered around with excited faces. His family. He smiles, "of course I'm excited Peter. I love it." He looks up to see Sam smiling at him from the doorway.
Wanda and Pietro and Yelena know the real reason they're celebrating, but the rest are just happy to be doing something fun. "The real question is," Steve asks, "what movie are we going to put on?"
Suggestions in clambering voices explode around him and they start making a list.
—-
He's lying in the middle. Peter's curled against his right side and Yelena and Wanda are close by on his left. He yawns and listens to the soft breathing of the kids around him.
He's falling asleep when he hears Sam come into the room and settle on the couch.
"Thanks, Sam." He whispers, grateful for the celebratory gesture.
"It's just a sleepover." Sam says with a laugh, "this was the easy part." Steve blinks tiredly when he hears Sam whisper again, "Steve?"
"Hmm?"
"Everything I heard today I basically already knew… But hearing it again I just… I really want to make sure you're okay. If there's ever a time you wanna talk about what you've been through I'm here for that too. You know that right?"
"You and I do talk."
"You promise you'd talk to me if you ever felt—" the bright whites of Sam's eyes reflect the moonlight, "like what Howard said?"
"What did Howard say?"
"That you were giving up hope."
Steve feels stunned, but he just shakes his head, making sure his voice is firm. "I'm not, and I haven't. I'm realistic, sure, but that doesn't mean I want to give up the ghost, literally—"
"Not funny."
"Kinda funny."
"Steve."
"Sam."
"So… if Howard did figure something out you would do it?"
"Yeah Sam. Of course I would.
"Okay. Good. Because I'm going to want you around in my life for a long time."
Steve laughs quietly, "to help wrangle all the kids?"
Sam reaches down and rests a hand on Steve's hair, "No kid, because I want you around. Not so you can serve any purpose or help me with the kids. Because I want to watch you grow up and live the life you're meant to have. That you deserve to have."
"I don't—"
Sam cuts him off. "That you deserve to have, Steve."
Steve's voice is a tough watery as he whispers, "thanks, Sam."
"Goodnight, Steve."
"Night."
—
Some of that hope Sam and Howard were making sure he didn't let go of was manifesting itself physically, because he'd had a good couple of weeks of school (minus the cold he'd gotten after being out that night) and he'd been thriving in his art class.
He's walking there now, carrying his leather folio that is getting more full each week and as he turns the corner close to his classroom tha he sees her.
She's walking towards him, looking down at a stack of papers in her hand. He can guess she'd needed the industrial color printer that the art building had. He'd seen glimpses of her here and there around campus, but never worked up the courage to say anything.
He angles to the side, ensuring he'l be out of her way and looks down at his own feet as they begin to pass each other. He feels her look up at the presence passing her and he glances up too. They trade brief smiles and then he's looking back down at the floor as quickly as he can. He's past her and his heart is beating rapidly when he hears a voice.
"Wait, hello?" He freezes, unsure if she's referring to him. "You know Dr. Erskine, don't you?"
He turns then, finding her staring at him with a smile on her face. "Yes," he answers.
She nods and steps forward, "thought I recognized you." She shifts the papers and extends a hand, "Peggy Carter."
He slowly accepts her firm handshake and says "Steve Rogers. You're English?"
"Quite astute there." She laughs, "Nice to officially meet you, Steve."
"You too."
"Are you an art student?"
"I take a class here, but I'm still in highschool."
Her smile is so kind and gentle that Steve knows it will find its way into one of his drawings soon. "I'm a senior in highschool too," she says, "I work for Erskine after school as an intern to earn study hours."
Steve ducks his head, "that's really cool."
"Why are you taking a college level art class?" She asks with genuine curiosity, "are you earning your college credits early?"
He nods, "yeah, but I just won't have time to take this class next year, and I don't know where I'm going to college. So it's now or never."
"Always now." She laughs, a clear pleasant sound that has his heart rate increasing. "Never never."
He smiles, his eyebrows puckering, "what?"
"You said 'it's now or never'." She smirks, "so, my motto is 'always now, never never.'"
"Wow… that's…" he looks at her in awe, "that's amazing. Honestly. What a cool motto."
Her eyes and smile soften at him, "you know what, Steve. I have to go—"
His eyes widen, "Oh! Yeah, of course. Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you. I'm—"
She laughs, "no, no, that's not what I was implying." She steps closer, her lips in a teasing smirk, "I just meant I needed to get these things to Dr. Erskine now, but… what are you doing once your class gets out?"
And that's when his brain decides he must be dreaming because she can't possibly be asking what he's doing later.
"Steve?"
"Huh?"
"Are you still there?"
He blinks and looks around, "oh.. Sorry, what did you ask?"
Her nose scrunches in a soft laugh, "I was asking what you were doing after your last class?"
"Really?" He asks, unsure if he's hallucinating.
Her head tilts to the side and gets a bit more somber. "Really, Steve. But if you're busy—"
"No." He says quickly, "I'm just surprised."
"About what?" Her eyebrow quirks up, daring him to say something. He can't seem to form an answer that doesn't make him sound pathetic or sad, so he just shrugs helplessly. Her eyebrows raise and she balances the paper on her hips, "what time does your class get out?"
"7p.m." he says quietly.
"What room?"
"108"
"I'll be outside, waiting for you if that's okay?" He just nods and her eyes twinkle, "see you then." And then she's gone in a flash of rid lips and deep brown eyes and Steve's left with an empty mind and a quick beating heart.
—-