Steve takes another grueling step forward. The pain in his hip is so splintered through his body that it is almost at the point of numbness. But he can feel Howard's eyes on him and he refuses to stop.
So he takes another step forward, ignoring the way his joints ache and protest. The little number on the treadmill screen taunts him. He has at least 35 more steps to go and he can't lose this bet.
It is the Friday before his first day of school and Howard had showed up with a wheelchair that morning, insisting Steve use it. But he'd flat out refused.
"No way!" He said vehemently, "no way in hell!"
"Steve—" Sam tried to stay calm and light hearted, "it's no big deal. It will be so much easier for you."
He had shaken his head, "I'm not starting off my senior year in a wheelchair. I'm going to walk on my own two feet until I can't. Then we'll talk about it."
Howard had pointed at the door, "Steve it's almost half a mile to the subway stop, and another half mile from your stop to school. That's without all the stairs and mess of the school hallways! You need to help your body reserve it's strength to fight—"
"I appreciate your concern. And I'm not trying to be obnoxious. But no."
The men had stared at him and he could feel their determination pushing against his own.
So after 30 more minutes of arguing, Steve had raised his hands. "I'll prove it to you. We'll make a bet. If I can walk on your treadmill for however long you think a school day will take, then I get to walk. If I can't make it, I'll relent and take the chair."
Howard's lips had thinned. "Fine."
So here he was. 32 steps from proving to Howard that he could do it.
31.
—
He finishes and the treadmill slides to a stop. It takes him a few seconds before he can turn around, but he does, a smile on his face even as he ignores the way his muscles are screaming and the sweat drips down his back.
"See." He says hoarsely, "I'm fine".
Howard's jaw is tight, "you look like death warmed over."
"I am—" Steve huffs, using the supportive handrails to step down onto the lab floor. "—death warmed over that. Just death warmed over that can walk to school."
"Steve, please, be reasonable—"
"Howard, we made a deal. I accomplished it. You can't argue."
"Take five steps right now."
Steve knows if he lets go of the handrails he will hit the ground, muscles shaking. "That wasn't the deal." He insists, holding onto the rails. "I'm taking the cane. You guys are lucky I'm even taking that. But I'm not doing the chair." Howard looks ready to still fight with him but he shakes his head, "not yet anyways. Maybe I'll give in in a week, just…" Steve sighs and unbidden starts sinking to the floor, "please just let me have the first few days".
He's on the ground and his ankles and feet are aching and his leg muscles are twitching and Howard is watching it all with a pained expression and pursed lips.
"Fine." Howard whispers harshly, "one week."
That's not exactly what Steve had meant, but he doesn't have the energy to fight.
—-
T: Steve walked it. My dad says he's refusing the wheelchair.
Bucky grinds his teeth. Tony had told them about his dad and Steve's bet and all of them were secretly hoping Steve would give in or not finish just so he could take the chair. But as per usual with Steve, he refused to give in, fighting for what he wanted.
Bucky's hands ghost over the screen. He looks around his dorm room, and sighs. He's happy with his choice, and the first week at MIT has been amazing. He likes his roommate, a nice guy named Falsworth that reminded him of Peggy. Albeit mostly because of the accent. But he worries constantly. He's only been gone from Steve for just over a week and since he's been gone he's spent more time worrying about him then focusing on the welcome week they were having for Freshmen.
He looks at his desk where a sketch resides of the group. Steve had drawn one up and gotten it copied and had somehow shyly and defiantly at the same time, handed one to each of them.
"We're going our separate ways but at least this way we'll always have something to remember each other by." He'd said.
Steve's scrawny face grinned widely as Peggy looked on with a fond eye roll, a hand firmly on her hip. Bucky was tickling Natasha who was trying to stay serious, and Tony was kissing Pepper's cheek. Clint and Laura were making matching silly faces and everyone had shouted their acclamations of appreciation when he'd given it to them.
C: I'm going to follow him on Monday. I'll make sure he gets to school.
N: no Clint, you need to focus on your own classes, you can't be his tail everyday. And he'd be pissed if he knew.
B: who cares if he's mad! He's going to pass out on the sidewalk before he admits he needs a wheelchair!
There's a pause as he can imagine all four of them staring at their phones reading his text.
Then Natasha's text is like a punch to the gut.
N: then so be it. He has to learn to accept help someway. Maybe the hard way is the only way he'll learn.
T: I hate that. But you're right.
Clint doesn't respond and Bucky can't seem to find words either.
—
Natasha spends the first week feeling overwhelmed and incredibly excited. She's glad she has to take regular classes along with her dance courses. It gives her a mental break from the taxing work of dancing. Not that she doesn't love it. She does, she spends hours a day, stretching, practicing and ensuring that she's staying in top form.
Her teachers are amazing and she fits in well with her classmates.
But when it's late at night and she's laying in bed. She looks over to her roommate, who is nice but extremely shy. And she wishes it was a room full of sleepy kids instead. She can picture Yelena to her left, pillow on the floor since the girl could never manage to keep it on the bed. She can imagine Pietro across the room. His soft snores keeping time with the ticking of the clock. Wanda's music always played very quietly as the girl couldn't sleep in silence. Peter, who slept in such a tight ball that his bed always looked like someone stuffed a beach ball under the comforter. And then there was Steve. In the bed by the door. He'd once admitted he chose that bed to make sure he could hear Mrs. Schmidt coming into the room and get her attention before she turned on any of the other kids.
His soft wheezing while he breathed was somehow a soothing sound to the whole room. When Steve had slept down by Sam after the dumpster incident, she'd noticed how uneasy the other kids slept without his presence in the room. She hadn't known what it was at the time, but when he'd come back to his bed, the rest of the kids had started sleeping deeply and fully relaxed and Natasha had felt a sense of grief that only his presence meant safety. He'd been their protector for so long they were practically co-dependent on him, even in their sleep. Sam had slowly and surely been working with each kid, trying to ensure they worked through the trauma that Mrs. Schmidt had put them through, and he was doing an amazing job. But still, the sound of Steve's soft breathing made the room feel safe.
And here she was, sleeping in silence, missing her home.
She rolled over and stared at the sketch Steve had given them. She'd also requested a sketch of the rest of the kids and Steve had happily obliged. She looked at Wanda, Yelena, Peter, and Pietro's happy faces as they grinned at her through the sketch. She smiled and her fingers ghosted over the frame it was in.
She'd be home in less than two months.
—
Tony adjusts the design of his newest device. He'd worked on a version for his parents, but now he wants to figure out a way to incorporate his AI into other devices. His eyes glance at the clock and it reads 2:23 a.m.
He scrubs at his eyes and feels his phone buzz.
He looks down at the text message and it's from his dad.
H: you think you can come home next weekend?
T: I've got a project proposal next Friday, but I could probably manage it… why?
H: I need someone else to look over these numbers. I've got calculations running for something and I need someone smarter than me to double check them.
Tony feels his chest constrict. More and more, his dad has been slowly opening up, being more… fatherly. Complimenting him without it being backhanded, not pressuring him so much about his future.
Tony knows he owes that partially to Steve. His dad is watching someone so young on the verge of losing everything, having to rush to "get everything in" before he can't do anything. It has made his dad back off heavily.
Tony had almost had a stroke when his dad had said goodbye at the airport and said "enjoy college" instead of "make me proud" or "don't screw up".
T: yeah dad, I can be there on Friday night. Maybe Barnes will come home with me. I know he's having a conniption not being in the same 300ft as Steve.
And then, before he can chicken out he texts quickly.
T: thanks for trusting me
But the answer is quicker.
H: no one I trust more. Love you. Now Go to Bed.
Tony laughs, the sound reverberating through the lab.
T: yeah yeah, you first old man. Love you.
H: :/
Tony cracks up at his use of old school emojis and shoves his phone in his pocket, heading out the door, taking his dad's advice.
—-
Clint looks around at the classmates in his class. They're all younger than him but not by much. He checks his watch. In 30 minutes he is going to text Steve. If he didn't get a response, then "learning the hard way" be damned. He was going to go find him.
—
Steve feels his phone buzz. He looks up at the school building that was maybe 300ft away. He takes a minute to lean against a brick wall, pulling his phone out and looking at the text from Clint.
C: you at school yet?
Steve glances at the building. He's close enough that it won't be too much of a lie.
S: yeah I'm here. Stop worrying. You'll give yourself an ulcer.
C: ha-ha. Hilarious.
He shoves his phone back in his pocket and keeps walking. He slowly walks up the steps, his cane clacking on the linoleum floor as he enters the building.
Everyone's so excited and engaged with the fact that it's the first day of school that most people don't even notice the cane at first. He walks to his locker, putting the textbooks he won't need til after lunch inside.
"Hey Steve." He looks up to see Scott, smiling at him. But his eyes flicker to the cane and back up. "Nice ride."
"Thanks." Steve says with an eyebrow raise. But Scott doesn't mention it again. Talking at him the whole way to their shared first period. He hears a few soft comments and a snicker or two, but for the most part he makes it his class without incident.
Which should have been a sign that something was bound to go wrong.
—-
He's walking out of the cafeteria when he hears the shocked laughter of some group of kids. Scott bristles but Steve ignores it, walking forward and turning the corner.
"Who the hell allowed the geriatric into school." One of the boys of the group says out loud.
He can feel Scott's anger building and he reaches out, grabbing the guys arm before he can turn around. "Don't. It's not worth it."
"You can't let them talk about you like that."
"What you want me to give them my whole sob story? So they can pity me instead of bully me?" Steve says with an easy laugh, "no thanks."
He keeps walking, forcing Scott to keep up.
"Why are freshmen such assholes?" Scott says with annoyance.
"Bullies are bullies no matter their age." Steve says flatly. "Don't blame it only on freshmen."
—
Steve can feel the eyes on him wherever he goes. As the week continues, more people notice and point, and the teacher's eyes follow him with pity and he finds himself glaring at the ground more.
On Saturday morning, while the kids eat breakfast, he feels Sam's hand on his shoulder. He looks up to see worried eyes.
"You look tired."
"I am." He admits, looking back at his huge stack of pancakes that he's taken exactly one bite of.
"How's school?"
"Same ol' same ol'."
"Steve!" They both look up as Peter comes barreling into the kitchen.
"Yeah Peter?"
"Guess what!?" The 12 year old is bouncing beside Steve's chair.
"What?" Steve asks with a laugh at the kids enthusiasm.
"We're gonna go to the farther park today! Sam said we could and that I could bring my spider-bot and you're going to come right?"
Steve's already so tired. And he knows he should stay home and rest and get his energy back for the next grueling week of school. But the kids excited eyes and hopeful expression makes that impossible.
"Pete—" Sam starts, "I think Steve's gonna stay ho—"
"Of course I'm going." Steve says quickly, "Of course. Wouldn't miss seeing you be a pro on the monkey bars."
Peter laughs excitedly and starts back out the kitchen, shouting Pietro's name.
"Steve—" Sam starts, a disapproving tone already present.
"Sam." Steve snaps, eyes scrunched closed, "Just please don't. Okay? I already know what you're going to say and I get it. I do. But I may not have many more park afternoons left in me. But I can do it today. So just… don't."
Yelena is walking in and she stops at the quiet intensity of the tension between the two.
"Everything okay?" She asks a bit hesitant.
"Yeah." Steve says quickly, "everything's fine. You coming to the park?"
Yelena's eyes flick to Sam and Steve looks up to see the man staring at the ground, jaw tight.
"Yeah." She responds slowly, "I'm coming."
"Great." He says quickly, "I'll go get ready." He moves to stand up only to see the full plate of pancakes at the table. The pancakes he doesn't really have an appetite for. But he doesn't want to say that. "Maybe after I eat." He says softly. Yelena nods and grabs something out the fridge, presumably whatever she'd come into the kitchen for in the first place. She walks out, eyes observing the two of them.
"Eat up." Sam says flatly, "we'll go when you're finished."
Steve nods and Sam walks out the door, his shoulders set tightly. Steve looks at the pancakes and takes another bite. But his stomach rolls and he quickly puts them into the trash, wincing at the waste, but covering them with other trash so no one would know he hadn't eaten. He walks stiffly out the door, and walks up the back stairwell avoiding the kids who were getting ready and gathering whatever they wanted for the park.
He pulls on his tennis shoes and grabs his cane and a hat. He grabs his glasses but leaves his hearing aid for his left ear on the bedside table and walks out the door.
—-
Tony stares at the huge metal sarcophagus looking device in the back section of the lab he feels like he's never seen.
His dad is working on some computer to the side, starting the calculations and Tony is in shock as he tries to comprehend what his dad had just told him.
A health enhancing chamber. A way to force life back into Steve's body.
He hadn't responded. Unsure what you could even say in response to that.
"Dad." He says hoarsely, "I—" the crack in his throat stops him. This looks like a torture device. Not a… solution."
His dad's shoulders tense, but then he takes a deep breath. "I understand how it might look to those who don't know how it functions, but it's not like that."
"How is it like?"
"The chamber has to completely encase his body to infuse his skin and muscles and everything with the healing solution."
"Which is what?" Tony asks dubiously, his finger sliding across the smooth metal surface.
"One problem at a time." His dad huffs, clacking at the keys.
—-
Bucky watches as Steve and Tony bicker over what movie to watch.
"Steve!" Tony flails his arms, "you're going to be asleep in like 20 minutes anyways!"
Steve laughs, "So! I want to have 20 minutes of a decent movie! Not trash!"
Tony gasps, "you take that back! Shrek is a classic!"
The vigorous head shaking makes Bucky laugh. "No, it's actually not." Steve insists, "you just have childhood nostalgia to it."
"Yeah well what do you have childhood nostalgia to, huh?" Tony grouses.
A soft smile crosses Steve's face, "old movie musicals. Or the Disney movies that I got to watch as a kid. We didn't have much but my ma loved Disney movies and she always took me to see the old ones at the discount theater."
"You're a little shit you know that?" Tony huffs, "using your sad childhood to get what you want."
Bucky chokes out a laugh and Steve smirks, "I mean… is it working?"
"Yes." Tony snaps. "What will it be?"
"Robin Hood." Steve says softly, leaning back against the couch, the bowl of untouched popcorn on his lap.
"Fine." Tony says in annoyance, but there's mirth in his eyes and Bucky knows he's perfectly content to let Steve pick.
It actually takes about 35 minutes for Steve to drift off, but when he does Bucky grabs the popcorn bowl and sets it on the coffee table.
Tony looks over and sighs. "My dad's working on this crazy machine." He whispers, "trying to fix Steve's body."
Bucky's quiet for a second, "you think it's going to work?"
Tony lets out a quiet huff, "I mean… I have no idea. Like I said after the dumpster thing, don't count out my dad, but…" Tony reaches out and gently lifts up Steve's wrist. He circles his fingers around it and shows Bucky the space left. Steve's wrist is practically just skin and bone. "How do you fix so much? It's not just one things, it's all the things."
"So you think…" Bucky's throat cuts off. It's quiet for a moment before he works up the courage, "you think Steve's going to die before he figures it out?"
Tony gently rests Steve's wrist back on his lap and looks at the screen. "I hope not."
—
Steve waves off the two from the car as they enter the airport departure door. Howard and Jarvis walk around the car and slide into their seats.
It's a quiet drive back to the house and Steve struggles to get out.
"You sure—" Howard starts.
"No." Steve snaps, then sighs and looks at the man with a fond annoyance. "I'm fine. It's been two weeks and I haven't been late to school except once and I don't need the chair. Not yet."
Howard just nods and waves goodbye as the car pulls away.
—-
Clint is on the subway when he feels his phone start to buzz. He pulls it out, but the tunnel he enters in that moment blocks the call from coming through.
He gets off at his stop and goes to his missed calls. His brow furrows at the fact that Steve had not only called him, but had left a voicemail.
He clicks listen and his throat goes dry at the first sound.
—"Clint, I'm—" A scuffle of some kind is in the background and a woman clearly in distress "—I promised Peter—" The call keeps going as he hears Steve shout "Hey! Get away from her!" He hears Steve start to breathe hevaier, as if he'd ban to run, "I'm pinging my location. Sorry to bother you but I gotta do something—"
The voicemail ends and Clint is frozen.
Clint stares at his phone, blood running cold. The call was from less than five minutes ago. He clicks the notification for the location ping and almost growls at how far it is. Maybe a 7 minute walk.
But he runs.