Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Waking up in the morning was becoming increasingly difficult for John Walker.

The alarm buzzed, but he didn’t move. The ceiling above him was blank, the light leaking through the blinds too sharp. He used to beat the alarm,  used to wake up before sunrise to go running,  but now he couldn’t bring himself to do it anymore.

It wasn’t laziness. He just couldn’t make his body want to start the day.

A year ago, he’d get up early enough to run before anyone else was awake. It gave him time to think, to clear his head before classes and football practice.

Sometimes, he’d even make breakfast afterward; eggs for himself and something for his sister, Kate, so she didn’t have to grab a Pop-Tart on her way out. Then he’d drive her to school, show up early to his own, and spend a few quiet minutes with Olivia before the bell. She’d kiss him before first period. He’d go to class with that stuck-in-his-chest feeling like things were going right.

Back then, days were better. Or maybe they just felt that way.

Now, the thought of running made him tired. Even standing up felt like effort. The habit slipped away over the summer, and once it did, he never found it again.

He told himself it didn’t matter, that he was still captain of the football team, still the guy everyone expected him to be. But even that title didn’t mean what it used to.

Nobody really looked at him like a leader anymore. They just looked at him.

His family didn’t make things easier. His brother, Mike, had joined the military, which their dad respected but didn’t want. That left John to carry the rest, the athletic success, the scholarship, the “honor” his dad liked to talk about over dinner.

He was supposed to be the next big thing. The next Steve Rogers – the hometown legend who went pro.

But John wasn’t sure if he even wanted that anymore.

The phone on his nightstand buzzed.

7:56 a.m.

School started in less than half an hour. He should’ve been awake an hour ago, maybe even out for that run he kept promising himself he’d start doing again.

“John!” A sharp knock rattled his door, followed by his sister’s voice. “Get up! I can’t drive myself to school.”

He didn’t move until she knocked again, softer this time. “I can walk if you need me to.”

That got him up. Slowly, he sat up and pushed the blanket off, the floor cold against his feet. Standing made the room tilt, but he caught himself on the bedframe.

He cracked the door open just as Kate turned to leave. She looked back, relief flickering across her face when she saw him awake.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice still rough. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

“Take your time,” she said gently, smiling in a way that made him feel both guilty and grateful.

He tried to smile back, but it came out more like a grimace. She was too young to carry any of this — his moods, his grief, his silence.

But then again, so was Olivia.

He shut the door behind him and headed for the bathroom. The tile was freezing under his feet, but it didn’t matter. He turned the shower handle all the way to cold and stepped in before the water evened out.

It hit him like a slap. Sharp enough to make him gasp, to make him feel something…anything. He stood there until his skin went numb and his breathing steadied.

When he finally turned the water off, steam hadn’t even had the chance to form on the mirror; not that the cold water would allow. He wiped at the glass anyway, just to see his reflection.

The person staring back at him didn’t look like the captain of anything. His eyes were sunken, framed by dark shadows that hadn’t been there last season. His hair hung limp, dripping down the side of his face.

There was no focus in his expression. No light.

He pressed his palms to the counter and stayed there, leaning forward until the weight in his chest ached. He used to look confident, determined, even. Now he just looked tired.

The kind of tired that sleep didn’t fix.

When he finally straightened, he caught his own reflection again and almost didn’t recognize it.

He pulled on the first clean shirt he could find, grabbed his backpack from where it slumped against the wall, and stepped back into the hall.

Kate was waiting by the door, already dressed, phone in hand. She glanced up as he came down the stairs. “You good?” she asked, and it wasn’t casual; there was hesitation in it, like she already knew the answer.

“Yeah,” he said, slipping on his shoes. “Let’s go.”

She didn’t push, just nodded and followed him out to the car.

The morning air was sharp. It should’ve woken him up. It didn’t.

They drove in silence. The radio stayed off, and Kate scrolled quietly through her phone while John kept his eyes on the road. He used to talk more, ask about her classes, her friends, but lately it all felt like too much work.

When he dropped her off, she hesitated before getting out. “Thanks,” she said softly.

He managed a small nod. “See you later.”

Just before she turned to close the door, Kate looked back at John and smiled. “Love you.”

The corners of John’s lips quirked up briefly. “Love you, too, Bug.”

Kate’s eyes lit up at the nickname, and she waved as she closed the door to head inside the building.

John sat there for a moment longer, fingers still on the steering wheel, engine idling. 

Ten minutes until class started, and five to get to his school from where he was. John didn’t want to have any time between when he arrived and when he had to get to class lest he run into people who should be minding their own business. 

So he waited another minute before driving to the high school. The noise hit him as soon as he stepped out of the car and into the building: laughter, sneakers squeaking on tile, the sound of a world that had kept moving without him.

Letting out a sigh, John slung his backpack on his shoulder and braced himself for the day.

Bob had never been a morning person, and this year was no different.

It took some time to adjust to his new foster family. Not because they were bad or anything, they were great! It was just that they were very–

“Папа! You are burning the eggs! How is that even possible?!”

–very different.

It was never a dull moment in the Vostokoff-Shotokov household.

Bob hesitantly stepped around the corner into the kitchen, still wearing his pajamas and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

Yelena Belova Shostokov was doing her best to pull her bear of a father, Alexei, away from the stovetop where smoking eggs were burning in a pan. Bob couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his mouth at the cartoonish scene in front of him.

That caught the attention of the other two, because they both immediately stopped fighting and turned towards him.

“Bob! It is lovely to see you awake and ready to enjoy some perfectly cooked eggs before the school day!” Alexei exclaimed, all too excitedly.

Yelena quickly stepped in front of her dad. “Ignore him. There is no way that’s edible,” she said, emphasizing her discomfort with an exaggerated shudder.

“Don’t listen to her,” Alexei said with an indignant huff, turning the burner off with a flourish. “They are perfectly cooked. Golden brown!”

“They are black,” Yelena countered flatly. “Eggs are supposed to be yellow when scrambled.”

Bob grinned, leaning against the counter. “I’d say it’s more of a charcoal vibe, really. Very gourmet.”

Alexei gasped as though personally offended. “You wound me, son.”

Bob laughed, genuinely, this time. The smell of smoke and coffee filled the small kitchen, sunlight creeping through the window. It felt loud and alive and safe.

At least until Yelena checked the clock.

“Crap. We’re gonna be late.”

She grabbed her bag off the chair, muttering something in Russian that Bob didn’t dare ask her to translate.

Alexei perked up instantly. “I will drive!”

“Oh no,” Yelena groaned. “Papa–”

“Da! The Red Guardian delivers his children to school with honor! I am making my way out into town anyway. Might as well.”

Before either could argue, Alexei was already heading toward the front door, keys jingling.

Bob exchanged a look with Yelena. “Do I… get in the car with him?”

She sighed, shoulders slumping. “If we die, at least it will be quick.”

The drive was predictably chaotic. Alexei weaved through traffic like it was a high-speed chase, narrating his own “tactical maneuvers” as Yelena gripped the dashboard and muttered prayers. Bob sat in the backseat, clutching his backpack and wondering if this was how superheroes trained for danger.

“You see?” Alexei boomed as they screeched around a corner. “Smooth! Controlled!”

“We just ran a stop sign!” Yelena snapped.

“It is fine! It was suggestion!”

They finally pulled into the school parking lot – sideways, somehow – just as the warning bell rang. Bob scrambled out of the car, hair disheveled, still in mild shock.

“You’re insane,” he said.

“I am excellent driver,” Alexei declared proudly, pounding his chest.

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Go. Before you’re late.”

Bob shot her a look. “What about you? You’re gonna be late too.”

The blonde shrugged. “I’m usually late anyway. Why stop now?”

Bob sputtered, taken aback, before he adjusted his clothes and realized he still had his pajama pants on.

He grumbled to himself before jogging toward the building, running a hand through his hair as he slipped through the front doors.

The halls were mostly empty now, just the echo of lockers slamming and teachers greeting stragglers. It was only the third day of school, but Bob felt like he was adjusting… decently well. He was starting to get the layout down,  mostly thanks to Yelena showing him all the spots she liked to hide during lunch and sometimes during class.

The A-day/B-day schedule was weird compared to his old school, but he kind of liked it. Four classes that alternated instead of seven or eight every day. Different, but a good different.

Third day of school meant it was the second A-day. 

He turned a sharp corner toward his first class, walking close to the wall and—

WHAM!

A door swung open and smacked him square in the face, making him stumble back. He grabbed his nose, blinking through the sudden sting. No blood, but damn that hurt.

“Whoa, you okay? I’m sorry about that.”

Bob looked up through involuntary tears. A tall guy with dirty blonde hair stood there, still holding the door open like he wasn’t sure what to do next. Behind him, Bob noticed the door’s sign: Boys’ Restroom.

Right. Not his old school. No reason he should know where everything was yet.

“I’ll be fine… I think,” Bob groaned, testing his nose.

Once his eyes stopped watering, he got a better look at the blond. He looked exhausted. Deep shadows hung under his eyes; the kind you only get from no sleep or too much of it. Bob knew the first kind well.

“That’s my bad,” the boy said quietly.

Bob shook his head, instantly regretting it as it worsened the throbbing in his face. “No, no, that’s my bad. I was way too close to the wall. Seriously, don’t worry about it.”

“If you’re sure.” The guy rubbed the back of his neck, then went quiet.

After a moment of awkward silence, Bob opened his mouth to ask his name, just trying to make some small talk, but the tardy bell cut through the hallway. Both of them froze.

“Shit.”

“Sorry for keeping you,” the other boy said, oddly calm. He was already turning away. “If you end up with a broken nose, let me know. I’ll pay for it, or something.”

“Wh-what? No, really, it’s not broken,” Bob stammered.

The boy looked back, brows furrowed, then just shrugged and walked off down the hall.

Bob wasn’t entirely sure, but that guy didn’t seem like he was all… there. He watched him go and realized he was heading in the same direction Bob needed to.

By the time Bob caught up, he was already late. He slipped into the classroom as the teacher was calling roll, every head turning toward him.

“Mr. Reynolds, correct?” the teacher asked, scanning the list.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Bob said, trying not to sound winded. He probably didn’t look great with a giant red nose, but oh well.

“Find a seat, please.”

The only open one was near the back, right next to the guy from the hallway.

Bob froze in the doorway for a second, eyes flicking from the teacher to the empty chair, to the blond sitting beside it.

The boy didn’t look at him. Didn’t look at anyone, actually. He just stared off into space, like he wasn’t really in the room at all.

It was strange, Bob thought, how some people looked fine until you really saw them. He wondered if anyone had really seen the way the boy looked recently.

Chapter Text

Bob was fairly used to people whispering about him, not even being quiet enough that he couldn’t hear. It seemed like people didn’t care if he heard or not. He had also been expecting whispers about him once people found out he was a foster kid living with Yelena’s family – apparently, her reputation wasn’t the best at the school. 

However, the whispers he heard as he made his way around the desks and towards the only open one, which happened to be next to the kid who nearly broke his nose with a door, weren’t about him.

Well, maybe a tiny bit, but not in the way he expected.

“He has to sit by Walker.”

“Good luck to him.”

“Poor new kid…he doesn’t know what’s coming for him.”

Bob tilted his head in confusion. He couldn’t help but slow his pace a little bit, pretending to adjust his backpack to hear what the other kids were saying without being too obvious.

“You hear what Walker did to his-”

“-Yeah, it’s crazy. I’m surprised they let him back in the school and didn’t arrest him.”

“He broke his girlfriend’s heart.”

His brow furrowed. Who was this Walker guy? He seemed like an asshole.

“He was gonna be too much for her anyway. Who would want to date that guy?”

“I’m surprised she did in the first place.”

Bob tried making eye contact with the guy as he got closer to the desk, but the other was just staring off, not paying attention to anything that was happening. He set his backpack down next to the desk and tried to see if the other boy would react. Nothing.

“I always knew he was trouble.”

“The new kid is gonna get eaten alive.”

“Wait, is he wearing pajamas?”

He pulled out the chair and finally made a move to sit down. The teacher had already begun to spout off something about what they were going to be learning about – something that had to do with the Roman Empire. 

Bob kept glancing at the chair and the kid at the desk next to him. He never looked up, not even when the brunet finally sat down completely and let out a sigh. Bob was tempted to try talking to the other boy again, but he didn’t want to get caught this early in the school year and get in trouble with his teacher.

So he opted to wait until they were given a couple of minutes near the end of class time to work on a small summary of what they talked about in class. 

He had a good reason to talk to the guy, too…Bob was having a hard time paying attention to the teacher’s droning the entire time and didn’t feel like he understood anything. The teacher said they were allowed to converse anyway.

“So,” Bob started nervously. He noticed the slight twitch that came from the blond next to him. So he was listening. “I didn’t understand too much about that…have you had this teacher before? I don’t know what he usually wants to hear.”

The boy just gave him a sidelong glance and turned back to what he was doing, which Bob noticed was nothing.

How did he not even notice that the guy didn’t even have a paper in front of him? He wasn’t doing the assignment.

“I’m…I’m Bob, by the way,” he tried again. “I never even introduced myself. What’s your name?”

No answer.

Letting out a huff, Bob reached over to nudge the kid to get his attention, but before his hand could make contact with the other’s arm, the blond turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh- sorry, I just wanted to make sure you could hear me,” Bob explained.

“I can.”

Bob retracted his hand and gave an awkward chuckle. “R-right…” he trailed off for a moment, holding the other’s blue-eyed, tired gaze for a moment before clearing his throat. “I was just wondering if you knew what we talked about in class. I saw that you-”

“-Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you talking to me?”

Bob blinked in surprise and quickly glanced around the room to see if anyone was looking over or eavesdropping on the conversation. One or two kids glanced over and whispered something to their friends next to them, but the blond next to him was speaking quietly enough that his accusing question didn’t seem to draw too much attention. 

Bob sighed. “I’m just trying to be nice?”

“And?”

The brunet sputtered in surprise. “What do you mean, and?”

The blond held his gaze for a moment, eyes flicking between Bob’s, before shaking his head and turning back to his nonexistent reflection paper. 

“Sorry for trying to be nice, I guess,” Bob found himself saying before he could stop it.

He watched as the blond smirked, letting out a ‘tch’ before shaking his head and refusing to look back at Bob. 

The brunet sat there for a moment, unsure of how to react to the guy, before glancing at the clock. They only had a few minutes before the bell would ring, signaling the end of being able to write the short reflection. He gave up on the asshole- kid next to him and turned towards another guy on the other side of him.

Bob spoke up and introduced himself, the other person introduced himself as Joaquin, before asking what he should write. Joaquin was more than helpful with the assignment.

Unlike the blond.

Finally, someone who wasn’t giving him the silent treatment.

“I don’t remember seeing you Monday,” Joaquin pointed out as he erased something from his paper. “This your first day?”

Bob thought back to Monday, shaking his head. “No, no, I slept through my alarm, and so did my foster sister,” he let out a chuckle at the thought of Yelena bursting into his room in a panic and throwing a granola bar and a banana at him.

She didn’t care if she was late, but it was the fact that it was supposed to be Bob’s first day that made her rush and panic.

“I just missed first period, but made it to the rest,” he explained.

Joaquin let out a laugh. “Well, glad you made it today.”

Once Bob was done writing and sat back down after turning in his paper to the teacher with only minutes to spare, he quietly asked Joaquin if he knew what was up with the blond guy being a jerk. 

Joaquin’s eyes widened just enough for Bob to notice. 

“He’s, uh..” he trailed off, glancing behind Bob, presumably to look at the blond. “I don’t really know what to say about him, honestly. Let’s just say a lot happened with him over the summer. Didn’t go well.”

Bob wasn’t sure if he was seeing things or totally misreading Joaquin’s expression, but the other looked almost sad when speaking about the other guy. 

Before Bob could ask another question, the bell went off, nearly making Bob jump at the sudden noise. 

“Damn, wish we could talk more. You’re fun,” Joaquin said, packing his backpack. “Listen, I might see you in other classes, but if not, I’ll see you Friday morning?”

Bob found himself nodding. “Yeah, for sure.”

“Perfect!” Joaquin exclaimed with a bright, toothy smile. “You should also come to the football game Friday night! I’ll be playing.”

Letting out a chuckle, Bob nodded. “Sounds fun. I actually haven’t been to a football game before.” He just never felt like going to one before.

“Sweet! I gotta leave, but I’ll see you around, Bob,” he said as he stood, waving goodbye.

Bob waved back before turning back and packing his backpack.

Just before he was about to stand up, he noticed someone standing in front of his desk. As he looked up, the other’s blue eyes flicked to the floor, ashamed, or maybe just… tired.

“Oh, hi, can I help you?” He asked the blond as he stood up to be eye level with the other.

The guy looked away before long, taking a breath. “John.”

Bob blinked. “What?”

“My name’s John. Sorry for earlier.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

The blond- John- rolled his lips before nodding and turning away.

Bob was still too in shock to stop the guy from leaving the classroom, so he could say something else. He just…wasn’t expecting that.

It was weird behavior, even for Bob.

At least he knew the blond’s name now.

John.

Great.

Everything was going fantastically.

Got to school. Avoided Olivia by slipping into the bathroom until right before the bell. Slammed the door right into some new kid’s face. Didn’t even register it until the kid – Bob – ended up as the only open seat beside him in first period. He ignored him. Not out of spite. It just felt… off. Wrong. Like someone had rearranged the furniture in a room he’d lived in for years.

At least Bob got to talk to Joaquin. Joaquin had always been good at making friends; John noticed that the first time he came to football practice the year before. Normal. Effortless. Orbited social gravity like everyone else.

John was just being an asshole.

He knew that. He could see himself doing it from somewhere slightly behind his own shoulder. But bringing himself back into his body enough to act normally felt impossible. He’d already burned through whatever energy he had pretending to be fine in front of Kate that morning. And even that had cracked.

His next class passed in a blur. Sam, the other co-captain of the team, was in that, but John didn’t say anything. He didn’t look at him. He didn’t want people thinking Sam was as messed up as he was. Didn’t want Sam thinking that, either.

He’d have to talk to him eventually. Practice after school forced that. But the idea of forming words, of being present enough to hold a conversation, made his stomach twist. He’d deal with it later. Later was safer. Later didn’t exist yet.

Lunch was easy.

All he had to do was disappear for a bit. Find a stairwell or a hallway, or some corner of the building that didn’t expect anything from him. He’d tried that the first two days of school, but the school felt bigger than he remembered; hallways were longer, doors were in the wrong places, the whole building subtly wrong in ways he couldn’t articulate.

He considered the music hallway, but he didn’t want to run into any band kids. They were already judgmental of football players. Sharper. Like they’d see straight through him.

Better to stay where people didn’t look too closely.

Better to stay nowhere at all.

John tried to recall all the times he’d walked these halls, every passing period, every practice day, searching his memory for any little nooks or crannies people tended to avoid. Nothing concrete surfaced. Just vague shapes, flashes of fluorescent lights, muffled voices.

Fine. He’d figure it out as he walked.

His feet carried him automatically toward the weight room side of the building. He wasn’t even sure when he’d stopped paying attention, but eventually he ended up in front of a dark, narrow hallway tucked behind a half-broken gate. Rarely used. Maybe never used. Perfect.

A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed no one was watching. He shifted the gate just enough to slip through, dragging his backpack after him.

The hallway was even dimmer inside. He walked slowly, peering into the tiny rooms that lined the wall. They had windows into them—too small for classrooms, too private for storage rooms, but his brain couldn’t pin down what they were supposed to be. He felt that fuzzy, blank sensation creep in again. The one where recognition should’ve clicked but didn’t.

Of course, the universe picked that moment to punish him.

“Bobert, is that–”

WHAM!

A door slammed directly into his nose.

Pain spiked instantly. John swore under his breath, one hand flying to his face while the other dropped his backpack to the floor with a thud.

“Oh shit, not Bob,” the accented voice said again, this time clearer, closer.

“Yeah, no shit,” he muttered, crouching and taking slow breaths through his mouth. The pain was sharp enough to keep him anchored, but the edges of his thoughts still felt distant.

“Damn, that doesn’t look good.”

He blinked up and recognized the girl standing over him.

Yelena.

He’d had classes with her before, though she rarely showed up. He’d always wondered if that was a normal thing in Russia, or whatever country she was actually from.

She crouched down and reached toward him. “Here, let me take a look–”

John slapped her hand away without thinking. “Not a chance, blondie.”

She frowned, stood, and put her hands on her hips. “Well, I had hope the rumors about you were fake or something, y’know? But I guess you are an asshole.”

He didn’t even process that fully before he shot her a glare.

“Yelena, what happened– oh, hi John. What happened here?”

John exhaled sharply, exhaustion lining the sound.

Of course.

The very same new kid he’d been an asshole to earlier.

He shouldn’t have told the guy his name.

“Oh, you know, just hitting people in the face with doors,” Yelena said breezily. John only half-heard her; he was too busy watching Bob, waiting to see what the brunet’s reaction would be.

Every muscle in his body screamed at him to get out, leave, disappear, melt into the wall, but Bob stood between him and the only exit, and John wasn’t sure he trusted his legs enough to force his way past.

“I don’t want to call that karma,” Bob said carefully, hands raised like he was approaching a wounded animal, “but… you kinda did nail me in the face earlier. Just a little bit.”

“Holy shit, he hit you with a door?” Yeloena squaked out.

John shot them both a look.

Bob chuckled nervously, but immediately added, “But hey, my nose is totally fine. So you don’t need to worry.”

For some stupid reason, that made something in John’s lungs unlock, like he’d been holding his breath without realizing. Bob wasn’t teasing him like Yelena was. Not really. Just… trying to make the situation less awful.

John pressed his thumb and index finger against the bridge of his nose, wincing. “I…I’m not worried.”

“Sure,” Bob said, unconvinced and painfully gentle.

Yelena crossed her arms. “You should sit. Before your face falls off.”

“My face is not–”

But before John could finish protesting, a weird vertigo hit him, just a flicker, a tilt of the floor, and Bob stepped a little closer. Not touching, not grabbing, just… ready.

John sank down first to avoid making it weirder. Bob dropped beside him immediately, like he’d been waiting for permission. Yelena sat on his other side with a dramatic sigh.

He doubted the feeling was solely from a door getting slammed into his face. It was probably a mix of him not having eaten well in a while and his lack of good sleep catching up to him, but they didn’t need to know that.

It was stupidly quiet over here. The kind of quiet that felt disconnected from the noisy school around them. Like they were tucked away in a forgotten pocket of the building.

Yelena gestured vaguely at the dim hallway. “Old practice rooms. Music department used them before they got a shiny new wing. Now it’s just storage and me.”

Bob snorted softly. “She’s told me she lives in the walls of the school,” he explained to John as though Yelena wasn’t already known for being found in strange places around the school.

“Shut up,” she said, but she smiled a little.

Bob beamed, and their easy banter tugged at something deep in John’s chest. A familiar ache. A memory he didn’t want to think about. He focused on the scuffed linoleum instead, willing the buzzing at the edges of his mind to quiet.

He didn’t notice Bob watching him until the brunet leaned in slightly.

“You okay?” Bob asked. Quiet. Careful. Like the volume mattered.

“Fine.”

“That’s a lie,” Bob replied, just as gently as before.

John’s throat tightened. “Not your business,” his voice sounded clipped. 

The brunet just nodded, holding his hands up in a small mock surrender. Bob wasn’t accusing him or judging him, just seeing right through him, which was somehow worse.

Yelena raised an eyebrow. “So what were you doing wandering down random hallways? Don’t you have, like, a whole football team glued to you?”

“You play football?” Bob asked, almost excitedly.

John’s shoulders stiffened automatically, ignoring Bob’s question. “Just… checking out the school.”

Yelena shook her head. “Half-ass answer.”

John looked between them, annoyed and exposed. “It’s the beginning of the year. People explore.”

“Aren’t you a senior?” Yelena pointed out. “I feel like you would’ve explored already, no?”

“Maybe that’s technically true,” Bob said softly. “But not why you’re here.”

John swallowed hard. His fingers curled around his backpack strap until his knuckles ached. Somehow, saying nothing felt safer than lying outright.

“What is this? An interrogation?” He let out a slow, shaky breath. “I just… needed air.”

Bob nodded, understanding without pushing.

Yelena nodded too, but with a different kind of knowing.

It was a weird feeling, opening up to two people he’d never take a second glance at if it weren’t for the circumstances.

For the first time that day, sitting in a dusty, forgotten hallway with two semi-strangers, John felt his pulse settle. Just a little. Just enough.

Like the world had stopped spinning quite so fast.

The two moved on, continuing to speak to each other, but not forcing John to speak if he didn’t want to. 

Bob’s voice was tentative at the start, careful in a way that made it clear he was avoiding mentioning John’s behavior from earlier, but he loosened up once he started talking about Joaquin.

“ –he’s just really nice,” Bob was saying, fiddling with the zipper of his hoodie. “Helped me with the assignment, and he invited me to the game on Friday. I think he plays wide receiver or something? I don’t know much about football, so I don’t want to assume.”

John huffed quietly. “He does. He’s good. Fast. One of the only people who actually… knows what he’s doing out there.”

Bob brightened. “You know him?”

“Yeah,” John said, staring at the dusty tile floor again. “Football.”

“Right, right,” Bob looked like he wanted to ask more, about football, or Joaquin, or probably about him, but John snapped upright mentally before the questions could come.

He could practically see Bob forming them.

“So anyway,” John cut in abruptly, voice going flatter than he meant it to, “he’s a nice kid. That’s all.”

The eagerness on Bob’s face faded into something more careful. He nodded. “Right. Sorry.”

The apology wasn’t necessary, but John didn’t know how to say that. He didn’t know how to say anything that didn’t keep people at arm’s length.

A moment of awkward quiet passed before Bob cleared his throat.

“Um… so, hey,” Bob started, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you ever want to, I don’t know… eat lunch with us, me and Yelena, I mean, you can…if you want.”

Yelena snapped her head toward Bob, eyes wide.

John stared.

Bob was glancing between him and the floor, cheeks pink, like he wasn’t sure if he’d just committed a social crime.

“You don’t have to,” Bob added quickly. “I just… thought you might like company. Only if you want.”

The bell rang, sharp and metallic, echoing down the narrow hallway.

John stood slowly, being careful of his nose, swinging his backpack over one shoulder. “Thanks,” he managed. “I’ll… think about it.”

He didn’t wait to see their reactions. He ducked back toward the little gate, and as he walked away, he heard it:

“Bob, why did you invite him?” Yelena hissed, voice cracking. “This is supposed to be an us thing!”

“I know,” Bob whispered back. “But I think he needs it. I don’t know why, but… he just does.”

John stopped for half a second.

And then he kept going.

Third period was in the science wing, which smelled like disinfectant, pencil shavings, and that weird artificial lemon scent every school with a low budget seemed obsessed with. His head still felt floaty, his nose hurt, and the hallway scene kept replaying like a glitching video.

He stepped into the classroom just as the teacher told everyone to take their assigned seats. John remembered their teacher had let them sit wherever on the first day, but made it clear there would be assigned partners in the second class...

Right. Great.

He scanned the clusters of lab tables until he saw his name next to someone else's.

Ava Starr.

Perfect.

Ava was already seated, perfect posture, lab notebook out, pencil aligned with military precision. She looked up as he approached; only her eyes moved, sharp and unimpressed.

“You look like hell,” she said flatly. No greeting. No emotion. Just straight diagnosis.

John dropped into the seat beside her with a groan. “Thanks.”

“Not a compliment,” she added, turning a page.

He pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Didn’t think it was.”

Ava glanced sideways at him, eyes narrowing. “You’re not going to make this class difficult, are you? I actually care about my grade.”

John let his head thump lightly onto the desk, making his nose throb. “It’s gonna be a long year.”

Ava let out a huff but didn’t disagree.

Coach Gary’s office always smelled faintly of turf, old coffee, and whatever cheap air freshener the school bought in bulk. The blinds were half-closed, muting the afternoon sun, and the wall behind him was cluttered with decades of football photos, championship plaques, and at least three mugs that proudly proclaimed him World’s Okayest Coach.

Bucky sat across from him in a rickety chair that squeaked every time he shifted,  which he tried not to do, since shifting made his left shoulder throb. He wasn’t required to keep his arm in the sling all day anymore, technically, but “cleared for limited movement” didn’t translate to comfortable, and he still kept it secured most of the time to avoid aggravating the injury. He’d taken it off earlier for PT, and that had especially wrung him out.

Gary didn’t look up immediately, flipping through attendance sheets with a low, exasperated grumble. “I swear, Barnes, these boys treat roll call like it’s an optional life choice,” he muttered, voice carrying that signature mix of authority and bone-dry humor. “Half marked absent, half marked present, but mentally orbiting Jupiter. Soup-for-brains disease is rampant this year.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “Sounds about right.”

“Mm-hmm.” Gary finally set the papers aside and leaned back in his chair. “Now, what I wanna talk about is you.”

Bucky straightened instinctively, not defensively, just bracing for whatever question was thrown his way. The motion tugged at his shoulder, and he felt a sharp little pulse of pain. He tried to ignore it. “Yeah?”

Gary gestured at the sling with his pen. “How’s the shoulder holding up?”

“Still attached, so… decent,” Bucky said, offering a lopsided shrug with his good arm.

Gary narrowed his eyes. “You pushin’ it?”

“No,” Bucky replied too quickly.

Gary snorted. “Terrible liar. Well-meaning, but terrible.” He pointed the pen at him. “Listen, I’m glad you’re here. Truly. You were one of the sharpest players I ever coached. Losing the field doesn’t mean losing the game. You hearing me?”

Bucky swallowed, then nodded. “Yeah. Means a lot you’re letting me help out.”

“Of course I am.” Gary’s tone softened. “You bein’ here is good for you… and good for these boys. Idle hands and all that.”

Bucky cracked a thin smile. “Yeah. I know.”

Gary leaned forward, elbows on the desk now, voice lowering into something heavy.

“You’re aware of what happened this summer, right? With Walker and–”

“Yes.” Bucky cut in gently, but firmly. The muscle along his jaw tightened. “I… heard.”

Gary studied him for a few seconds, then nodded once. No need to finish the sentence. The whole town knew, for the most part. It buzzed with half-stories, speculation, and ill-intentioned rumors that weren’t completely accurate. 

But Bucky knew the real one, or as close as anyone just outside John did.

“Well then,” Gary said, exhaling through his nose. “You know that boy’s carrying a load too heavy for any kid to haul alone.”

Bucky’s eyes dropped briefly to the floor, his stomach twisting. He thought of John: broad-shouldered, stoic, built like nothing could break him – except something clearly had.

Gary continued, quieter now.

“He’s still captain. Big, strong, still talented. But strength don’t mean he’s grown. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean he’s okay.” He met Bucky’s eyes directly. “I need someone who actually sees him. Someone who’s been where he is, in some ways. Make sure he doesn’t crack under all that weight.”

Bucky let out a long breath, shoulders softening with something like resolve. “…Yeah. I can do that.”

Gary nodded, satisfied. “Good man.”

Then, as though the emotional depth had been enough for one day, he abruptly shifted tones, grumbling as he pushed himself out of his chair.

“Now, since you’re here and conscious, help me figure out where those little gremlins hid the game-day pylons. I swear, these boys treat equipment like it’s a damn scavenger hunt.”

Bucky stood carefully, using his right hand to adjust the sling strap. Even that motion sent a ghost of discomfort down his arm. “Sure thing, Coach.”

“Good,” Gary said, marching toward the door. “Because if I bend over to look under one more bleacher, my back’s gonna file for divorce.”

Bucky snorted as they stepped into the hallway, already filled with the restless buzz of last period wrapping up. Gary muttered ahead of him about teenagers and organizational incompetence before pausing.

“Last thing,” Coach Gary said, pausing mid-step. Bucky raised an eyebrow in question. “Hope you’re okay being called Coach Bucky.”

Bucky blinked. He wasn’t entirely expecting that, but there was always a chance Coach Gary would call him that. 

After the head coach continued moving, Bucky followed, feeling the familiar ache in his shoulder and the unfamiliar weight of a responsibility he hadn’t been expecting.

This year wasn’t going to be simple.

Not for him.

Not for John.

And definitely not for the team.

But at least he wasn’t starting it alone.