Steve steps out of the car and feels self conscious as he reaches back to grab his cane and backpack. Happy tries to help him but he waves him away. He can already feel the eyes on him. Some curious, some growing narrow.
This is a Brooklyn public school. Not a private school.
The number of kids getting dropped off in a car worth as much as the building itself is zero.
Well.
Now it's one.
Happy asks what time to pick him up and Steve gets a knot in his stomach when he says that he doesn't know yet and that he'll text him.
Happy looks at him with a tilted head and a wary expression and Steve can feel the stares watching his back as he waves goodbye and walks as quickly as he can up the large stone steps and into the double doors.
The pit in his stomach grows into dread as he hears the whispers follow him.
—
Natasha feels her phone buzz and she looks down to see two different group chats alerting her to new messages.
The one with the guys was typical. They were arguing about whether to do something big over christmas break or to lay low and just chill. Clint wanted to chill, so did Bucky, but Tony was arguing for something big, no surprises there. But she hesitated.
She kind of wanted to do something too.
N: maybe we compromise? We do something cool, but only a day thing, or idk nothing too much
Steve hasn't added his two cents in, but she looks at the clock and it's past 11:30, which means he was probably asleep.
She swipes over to the other group chat. A girls' group with Pepper, Peggy, Laura, Yelena, Wanda, and Rebecca. She gets endless laughs and support from this chat.
P: I'm just saying, Tony would whine about it, and also make sure it goes off without a hitch. I say we do it as a surprise gift.
R: I don't know, what if they hate it? Bucky thinks he's so mature
Natasha snorts at that, though his sister isn't wrong.
L: I think it would be adorable, and Clint would be down, I just know.
P: I don't think Steve would mind either, he's love that it was everyone.
W: I think Sam and Mr. Stark and the rest of the parents would love it. We'd have to be okay with it hanging in our houses forever.
Natasha smiles and begins tapping,
N: Okay, we'll do it. The first day off of Thanksgiving break. I'll let the guys know and then maybe Steve, Wanda, and Yelena can work on getting the pj sizes for all the kiddos?
Y: For sure
W: Will do, Pietro will help too
P: Then it's set! I get back November 16th, what about you guys?
Natasha gets back the 17th, Peggy and the boys at MIT get back the 15th,
N: Okay, we'll plan on the 18th, but we will probably need to rush order it!
P: Tony will help with that.
Natasha swipes open her other chat where the argument has somehow morphed into what New York Christmas tradition is the absolute worst. But she taps in her message, changing the subject.
N: Okay, the girls decided. We're going to all get matching christmas pajamas and take a picture at the old mall picture studio and get them printed and framed for each of our parents.
Tony responds first.
T: What the hell?
Then there's a pause and he's typing again.
T: Strike that, I love it. When, where?
C: I'm gunna need a copy too. Barnes in footie pajamas? Gotta hold that over him forever.
B: you'll be in them too dumbass.
Natasha smiles at the fact that they were all on board without questioning it. Well, except Steve, but he probably wouldn't mind either.
Her throat gets dry for a moment at the thought of the conversation she'd had with Clint.
A week ago, Laura had called her and had seemed very hesitant on the phone. But after some pressing and pushing, Laura had finally admitted she was really concerned for Clint because he wasn't sleeping much at all. So Natasha had left one day after class, spending money and time on cab and train fare she really didn't have to practically ambush Clint in his room at the Starks.
"Nat?" He'd asked, his face confused and his body language screaming exhaustion.
"What is going on?" She asked, "why do you look like a zombie?"
It had taken her the better part of 30 minutes to pry out of him the conversation he'd had with Sam and the reoccurring nightmare. He was still keeping something from her. Some detail. But he wouldn't give in. Wouldn't say it, and she'd dropped it eventually.
But the conversation was enough.
They'd talked well into the night and eventually she'd watched as he seemed to lighten considerably after having told someone. She'd gotten back to school at 3:30a.m. And hadn't been able to sleep as she'd had an assignment to finish, but it had been worth it. The phone call from Laura two days later had told her he'd been doing better.
Except… Now she is picturing Steve that way. And the dread of Wanda or Yelena or— Her eyes snap shut at the thought of Peter trying to wake Steve unsuccessfully.
T: We need to take a big group one, but also some smaller group ones
B: Yeah, yeah, the OG group. The five of us
C: can we please pose like those terrible 90's family portraits?
Natasha sighs and picks back up her headphones.
—
Bucky receives a package in the mail and he opens it. It's a care package from his family and he quickly opens the homemade cookie bag and shoves one in his mouth. He tosses one to Falsworth who then begs him for another immediately after. He laughs, passing two over.
He smiles at the new socks his sister had picked out for him, and the crisp new notebook and pens he's sure are from his ma. A smaller bag of cookies and a note that says: For Tony make him smile. He stands and stretches, "I'll be back in a bit. Don't eat more of my cookies or else."
Monty grins and nods, going back to studying before Bucky's out the door.
—-
Tony tosses a screwdriver in the air and catches it neatly. Repeating this motion over and over as the computer makes some final calculations that he's too tired to run. He hears the door to the lab beep and he looks up to see Barnes walking in.
"Hey," Tony calls, trying to assess the kid's facial expression. Usually bad news came from his dad, but Bucky and Steve were in pretty constant contact, so it could be from him too.
"Hey." Tony notices that Barnes' hair is getting a bit longer and the stubble pattern is starting to fill in around his face. He thinks back to over three years ago when they all were just kids. "My ma sent you something."
Surprise and excitement make his shoulders wriggle as a bag of cookies is dropped in front of him. "These her chocolate chip with butterscotch?"
Barnes chuckles and 'uh-hmms' while Tony rips open the bag. "Your mom is an angel."
Barnes laughs openly and looks around, "whatcha working on?"
Tony talks through chewing, "a suit." The eyebrow raise makes him keep explaining, "my honor's thesis is going to be about how to make the world a safer place with technology. So I'm designing a prototype of a mechanical suit—"
"Like a robot?"
"No, a human controls it."
Barnes furrows his brow, "and that makes the world safer how?"
Tony half scoffs and rolls his eyes,"the person in the suit would have the power to protect those around it."
At first it's just a soft 'oh' that Barnes responds with, but then he tilts his head, "so… one suit for the whole world?"
"No, a suit of armor everywhere around the world." There's a question in Barnes' eyes. "What?"
"I don't get it."
The eye roll he tosses Barnes is legendary. "Listen, let's say I'm in one of my suits. And I hear about a robbery or a terrorist attack. I can put on the suit and stop it. The suit will protect me and the weapons on the suit will help me protect the innocents."
"But… you're just one guy."
"Hence the reason for having a suit around the world."
And then Barnes' next question does actually pull him to a stop, "yeah but you're just one guy. You can't be everywhere. Who's controlling the other suits?"
He pauses, "well… I guess there would have to be other people."
"Isn't that a lot of power for someone to have?"
Tony responds slowly, "yes."
"How do you ensure you have the right people in the suits? People who won't use the power your suit gives them to their advantage?"
"I guess…" he starts, "I guess you make sure you know who you're giving that power to. Have to trust them."
Barnes nods and raps his knuckles on the lab table, and Tony can see he doesn't want to argue, so he just shrugs, "I mean, sounds like a cool idea."
Tony sighs and leans back, thinking about what he'd asked. His fingers tap on his jeans, "what would you do to make the world a safer place?"
The way Barnes eyes the computer screen and then the lab around them makes Tony realize that Barnes is more observant than he remembers. "I just think you have to have the right leaders. The right people with the right motives in power."
He nods, understanding the logic there, "yeah, but how do you go about getting those people in power?"
"It starts with how we perceive things as a society," Barnes laughs at a joke Tony doesn't catch, "People want power and are greedy. And those are the exact people who shouldn't be in power. So we need to change the way we structure our government. Stop idolizing idiots and stop pretending the market is actually still free. Because it's not—"
Tony blinks, "geez Barnes. Run for president, why don't you?"
He laughs and shakes his head, "nah, these aren't even my thoughts, I'm just parroting them."
"And whose thoughts are they?"
"Steve's."
This again catches Tony off guard and he sets the screwdriver onto the metal table. "Since when does Steve talk about this stuff?"
The rolling chair squeaks as Barnes sinks into it. He rolls back and forth, his feet rocking against the ground. "Apparently at Steve's last check up, he overheard a mom in distress at the front desk talking about whether her insurance was going to cover her son's procedure and it sent him into a research spiral."
Steve did tend to get hyper fixated on stuff he thought was a problem.
Tony picked a cookie out of the bag and picked it apart with his fingers. He's about to say something else when Barnes stands and shrugs his shoulders, "I'm just saying that technology won't save the world." He gives a wry grin to Tony and shakes his head, "it's people like you and Steve. You guys will do that."
Tony's left dumbfounded as the lab door swings shut.
—-
Steve's standing outside, waiting for the bus to pull around, when he hears a snicker.
He does not turn around.
The person gets closer and soon Ranger Rick is beside him. "Not getting dropped off by your fancy butler?"
"He's not my butler." Steve wants to sigh out loud. He'd been getting looks and comments and glares since he started taking the car to school a few weeks ago. But so far nothing more than that.
Until today.
He hates admitting that he hopes Scott will get here soon. Not that Scott's a fighter, or even intimidating really size wise, but the guy can make anyone laugh. He's good at dissipating tension and Steve has been hauled out of some close-call situations with one or two of his quips before. But Scott tends to run on the late side. And today they were taking a field trip to the MOMA, so a bunch of kids were standing around on the sidewalk, not paying anyone any attention. A pair of teachers were standing on the stone steps talking.
The kid nudges Steve's cane with the toe of his sneaker, "what's your deal, anyway?"
Steve looks at him, "do you actually want to know?"
"Nah, I don't care."
Steve rolls his eyes, "thought so."
The kid lifts his foot and before Steve can move out of the way, knocks his toe against the back of the knee Steve currently has most of his weight residing on. It bends under the force and Steve has nothing to steady onto as his weight shifts backward and he sits down hard.
His hip explodes with pain and he actually can't stop the hiss of pain that escapes between his gritted teeth. His cane clatters noisily to the sidewalk and his heart rate elevates at the pain now radiating from his hip and side.
Ranger Rick is nowhere around.
"Um, dude?" He hears a voice ask, "dude you okay?"
"I'm fine." He grits out, reaching for his cane and trying to think of a way he can pull himself up using it. He's reminded of the shower and how Bucky or Tony or Clint would help him without a second thought.
But they're not here. And he has nothing to grab to help himself up.
"Here." He looks up and sees a girl, brown curly hair and an amused smile on her face, "come on—" she reaches out and doesn't wait before grabbing under his arm and pulling. He doesn't protest, allowing himself to be hauled up and getting his feet and cane back under him. "There you go." She puts her hands on her hips and looks around at the kids who are pretending not to stare, "you a clumsy one?"
He looks around, seeing Ranger Rick now 20ft away smirking at him, "yeah, something like that." Then he brushes himself off, "thanks."
"Don't mention it." She turns to go and is about to disappear when he hears himself ask,
"Wait, you helped me and I don't even know your name."
She glances back and winks, "I'm Angie. See you around, Steve."
He blinks at the fact that she knows his name and is about to ask how but the brakes of the bus rounding the corner cut him off and then she's gone.
—-
Scott arrives minutes later and chats easily as the teachers direct them onto the bus. Steve has to keep his mouth closed or the sounds of pain at every bump in the road would escape. His hip is positively screaming at him and he knows the bruise there is going to be massive.
The bus hisses to a stop and they file out. He never has to ask Scott to walk slower. The guy just matches his pace to Steve's and fills the silence with anecdotes that Steve can hardly keep up with.
They walk inside and head towards the information desk to get their little headsets. He looks up to see a face looking at him in surprise. He stops, in shock and she gasps, her eyes trailing up and down him before she speaks, loudly drawing the students' attention, "Steve?!"
He feels his shoulders duck, "oh, hey Hope."
She walks around the desk towards him and then stops halfway, "everyone, line up in a single file and we will get you your devices, please no running, horseplay, or touching any of the art!" She motions for one of her co-workers to start passing the headphones out and she makes her way towards him, "Steve, what are you doing here?"
He laughs, "I'm in highschool Hope, remember?"
She wrinkles her nose, "oh yeah," then she glances up at the students, "that seems weird." Then she smiles at him, "how are you and Peggy, still going strong?"
He nods and smiles widely, "yeah, she's the best."
Hope laughs and then Steve turns to Scott to introduce them. Only to find the boy staring at Hope with a slightly awed expression. Steve wants to laugh but he doesn't, "Scott? This is my friend Hope, Hope, this is Scott."
"Hello," Hope says easily, extending a hand.
Scott reaches out and shakes it, "Hey, I'm Scott. I mean, he just said that. You know Steve? Steve's cool. He's a cool dude. You seem cool too—" Scott looks down at the way he's still shaking Hope's hand, "oh, uh, sorry, I'm shaking your hand too long." He drops it and scratches at his neck, "nice to meet you."
"Wait—" Steve says, remembering a conversation he'd had with Hope, "aren't you a San Fran native?" She nods and Scott's eyes light up,
"You are?! Me too!"
Hope looks at him skeptically and then to Steve who nods. "That's cool. I miss it sometimes."
"Yeah, the West Coast is awesome."
Hope nods in agreement and her eyes trail back to Steve and he can see the investigative once over she gives him. And the glance towards the cane.
He glares at her in amused annoyance and she laughs, "you're doing alright?"
"I'm fine."
She looks about ready to protest when her name is called and she says her farewells, getting back to her job.
Steve looks back to his friend and rolls his eyes, "Scott, you're drooling."
The boy snaps his mouth shut and chuckles with a dazed look on his face.
—-
Scott tries to subtly ask questions about Hope the whole museum tour. Steve obliges, not minding at all.
At the end, Hope gives him a hug before they leave and he can feel the confused looks from his peers as they walk out back towards the bus.
The teachers eye him curiously too, but he just ignores it, too focused on walking without a limp.
—-
He's in the bathroom, brushing his teeth when there's a knock, "Steve? It's me, I gotta pee."
Steve opens the door and lets Peter in, stepping out, "I'll be quick." The kid promises.
"No worries, I can go down stairs to the bathroom."
Peter's look of concern is radiating, "no, no, I'll be done in a minute!"
He laughs, trying to keep the toothpaste from dripping as he waits outside the door, leaning against the wall.
Peter is true to his word, and the door opens with a woosh. Steve goes back in, spits and reaches to stash his toothbrush where they all hang in a row when he hears a gasp and a quiet voice ask, "what is that?"
Steve looks around, "what is what?"
Peter points at him, "that?"
Steve's still confused until the kid reaches over and yanks up the bottom of Steve's shirt, revealing the mottled bruise that must have shown when he reached across the sink.
"It's a bruise, Peter."
The kid's voice is mad, "from who."
"Not from who." He says, "from what."
"What?"
"I fell, hit my side hard." Technically not a lie.
"And you were pushed?"
"No." Again, not really a lie.
Peter's face lightens, "oh. Okay." Then he looks up at Steve, "it looks painful."
"Nah, It's fine. Doesn't even hurt." Definitely a lie.
"Okay," Peter waits for him to walk back to the bedroom and they get ready for bed, "Steve?"
"Yeah?"
"Where do you think you'll go to college?"
Steve lays back on his bed. He'd been wondering if he even wanted to go to college. Not sure that was the best use of his dwindling time.
""I don't know yet. Why?"
"Do you think it will be far?"
Steve props himself to see Peter sitting on his bed, trying to look brave.
"I don't know. But I'm not going anywhere, okay?" He tries to lighten the mood, "why, would you miss me?"
Peter looks around at the other kids, some sleeping, some on their phones or doing homework. Yelena and Wanda are sleeping over at Rebecca's tonight and Steve is pretty sure Pietro is doing math homework with Daniel downstairs.
Peter stays silent and it makes Steve's worry rise. "Peter?" The kid glances up for only a second before going back to his hands, "Peter what is it?" When he still doesn't answer, Steve swings his legs over the bed and hobbles over to Peter's bed, ignoring his cane. He sits down beside him and wraps his arm around Peter's shoulders, "what is it? You can tell me."
"If you're gone… at college…" the kid starts, and his voice gets soft and scared, "and Sam dies like my parents or my uncle and aunt… do I have to go back to Mrs. Schmidt?"
The look of absolute desperate worry on Peter's face makes Steve's heart threaten to burst in anguish, "what!? No!" He pulls the boy against his chest, "first of all, Mrs. Schmidt is in jail. She can never get her hands on you again. Secondly—" he stops, about to assure Peter that Sam wasn't going to die. And the gravity of what Peter has been through cuts through him. The kid has lost his parents, his uncle, then his aunt and even though they were horrid, he lost the Schmidt's too. Peter has never had more than a few years of permanence. And Steve's about to join that number.
He feels his chest constrict and his throat close and he's dragging in air in rasps. Peter's face goes sheet white, "Steve? What's happening?"
A panic attack. That's what's happening. But he sucks in air and forces every fiber of his being to stay calm. Peter needs reassurance, not someone else to worry about.
"Peter—" he says, suddenly feeling like an elephant is on his chest, "Peter, Sam is not going to die. He's going to take care of you. And even if—" he chokes at the thought of Sam's death, but doesn't stop, needing to assure Peter, "Sarah would take you in, or Mr. Stark. There's a never ending line of people who love you and would take care of you. I know the Barnes' would, and Mr. Jarvis and—" he feels his lungs straining for air, but he keeps talking, "you are never ever going to live with Mrs. Schmidt. Ever. You hear me?"
Peter nods but he still looks sad.
Steve shakes him gently, trying to hide the fact that all of his muscles are contracting and making him shaky.
"You wouldn't want to?"
Steve's eyebrows furrow, "wouldn't want to what?"
Peter looks at him guiltily, "you said there would be people to take me in. But you never mentioned your name. You wouldn't want me?"
And it's with that, that the realization of everything he's going to lose by dying early really settles on his shoulders. He drags in another gasp of air and his hand tightens on Peter's shoulder and he feels his lungs protest. "Peter—" he wheezes, "Peter, of course," he says shakily, trying to keep the absolute flood of grief and panic at bay, "I'm sorry I thought that was a given."
Another lie.
He hadn't said his own name because he assumes he'll be dead.
"If anything happens to Sam I'm first on the list to get you—" he lies. His jaw is creaking from how tightly he's holding it. He feels the roll of nausea in his stomach and the overwhelming crash of fight or flight making his body shiver and shake.
"Steve?" Peter asks, looking at him worriedly, "are you okay?"
No. No, he's not. He's terrible.
"Yeah buddy, just cold. You go to bed and don't you worry, Sam's not going anywhere and neither am I."
Steve's never told so many outright lies in such a short amount of time before.
Peter nods and climbs tiredly into his bed, seeming to be a bit more mollified.
Steve walks shakily, the panic and nausea making him want to shrivel up into a ball. But he somehow manages to put one foot in front of the other and make it out the door. He considers going to the bathroom. Hiding. But then he thinks of drowning in that very tub and he claps a hand over his mouth to keep from vomiting right there.
His watch buzzes.
His heart rate is too high.
Steve claws at his wrist, trying to scratch it off in uncoordinated movements. He growls in frustration until he hears the satisfying thunk as it hits the ground. Then he's gripping the railing and practically dragging himself down the stairs. His sock feet make less noise than his ragged breathing.
He finally makes it down to the landing and basically crawls to the front door, chest still feeling like someone is squeezing his lungs too tight.
When he makes it outside, he half collapses onto the steps in the cold November air. The panic doesn't disappear but it does lessen. He focuses on the sound of the street. The few cars driving by at that time and the laughter or tv or something from the window open across the street.
The slow pull of air into his wheezing lungs helps clear his head.
For the second time that day he wishes Bucky or Natasha or Clint or Tony were here. The memory of Peggy's hand on his cheek and her forehead against his. He wishes they were all here.
They will be soon. His Thanksgiving break is already planned out.
An appointment with Erskine and Howard. A day to take pictures in ridiculous Christmas pajamas, thanksgiving at the Starks. Sam plans on them going to the parade this year. He and the other four have a lunch planned at Milo's.
He lets the knowledge that he will see them soon calm him.
—