Entry for Day 20 of Marvel Whump Madness, hosted by Trekkiehood

*this is rated PG-13+ for triggering themes

Steve had been looking put-together at school since Kindergarten. For his mother, that was just the way it had to be. Her child was going to look his very best every single day... especially because he missed so many days because of his health. She wanted to make it clear that there was nothing wrong with her son, and there was nothing wrong with their little family of two, and to the public eye, that meant keeping him looking sharp.

When Steve had gotten older and been in charge of himself, he'd continued it for largely the same reasons. It was a matter of family pride. But more than that, it was a defense. His shirts, no matter how worn they might get, ironed by his own hand each night. His trousers, even if they were patched, done so with the greatest skill and care. He typically hit the filthy concrete of a back alley at least several times a week, but the next morning, he'd be spotlessly clean again, with any wound well-tended and barely noticeable, even when it was a gaping black eye or bloody lip.

He'd made it to the last semester of his senior year in high school, and never once shown up with a single thing out of place.

Then, his mother had died.

And he'd still managed to do it. He hadn't missed a single day of school to grieve, because attendance had always been too important to her and him. He'd missed far too much from being sick as a kid, and now that he was old enough to tough it out and not tell her, even when he felt absolutely horrible, he hardly ever missed a day.

She'd slipped away Wednesday evening, and Thursday morning he'd been right back in his chair, pressed shirt and impeccably-mended trousers, his face scrubbed hard enough to eliminate all evidence of the tears he'd cried all night, and his hair brushed.

He'd turned heads as he and Bucky had passed kids in the halls, been trailed by whispers. Because no one did that. They'd all grown up going to school together, and in the rare occasion that someone had lost a family member, they were out for a week at the least. At the most, they missed the rest of the school year and had to be held back.

And then Steve Rogers had walked in the very next day, even though one nurse had told another nurse who was someone's mother and she'd told the someone and they'd told their best friend who'd told their parents who talked to the original mother about it and a few more parents overheard... and so on, until the entire school knew by the time Thursday morning rolled around, that his mother was dead.

Not missing days was unheard of. It wasn't proper. It was just the kind of thing that freaky little kid would do.

But he'd done it, pulled himself up by the bootstraps like he always did, toughed it out and kept a face of stone and done his work and been beat up in alleys and bullied in the halls, just like everything was normal. Just like his world hadn't just shattered.

He'd gotten through the funeral arrangements, he'd picked up a job, he'd done everything, and he'd always looked completely put together doing it. He'd spent his fair share of nights on the couch cushions at Bucky's house, particularly right after the funeral, when he hadn't been able to say no to the sincerity in his best friend's eyes, but he'd continued to truly live in his own home, paying his own rent, taking care of everything that he didn't find done for him by Bucky's family when he got home at night.

It'd been four months since Sarah had died in October, and not once in his life had Steve shown up to school any way except on time and perfectly-put-together.

And then, he wasn't in his seat when the bell rang.

Bucky stared at the empty desk in front of him, feeling the panic he'd been suppressing ever since Steve hadn't met him like usual finally come to life. Something was seriously wrong. As their teacher rose from his desk to go to the front of the room and take attendance, Bucky got up from his as well.

"Sit down, Mr. Barnes, that was the bell."

Bucky took a deep breath and met his teacher's eyes steadily. "Sir, I have to go find Steve."

"Steven is seventeen years old," the man replied bluntly. "I don't believe he needs you to rescue him like a little lost puppy."

"Have you seen Steve?" a kid in the second row scoffed. "He would get his butt whooped by this little lost puppy you're talking about."

Bucky turned on him sharply. "You shut up!" He barked, the fire in his eyes warning the boy that a wise person wouldn't disobey the order.

He looked back at his teacher, taking a deep breath to try to reign in his temper, which was hot with his concern for his best friend.

"Steve's never late. You know that. Something's gotta be wrong."

The man sighed heavily. "It is not your responsibly to fix it even if it is," he told him. "Your responsibility is to sit here and learn. Now take a seat, Mr. Barnes."

"Oh, but don't you see, Mr. Wickends?" the same kid as before put it, "Bucky's just gotta take care of him now that his mommy and daddy are both dead. He's too little to survive the big bad world on his own."

Bucky turned fully this time, facing him head-on. "I said shut up."

"Why?" the other teen scoffed. "So you can prove my point, fight his battles like you always do cuz if you didn't he would have gotten himself killed by now?"

"No." There was utter steel in Bucky's eyes and voice when he said the word. "Because Steve is my best friend and my brother, and best friends don't let jerks like you badmouth each other, especially not behind their backs. Steve would do the exact same thing if you were in here running your mouth about me."

"Yeah, and then we'd fight, and I'd grind his face into the pavement, just like I always do," the kid shot back.

Bucky's face tightened even further than before, but he took a deep breath and went on without addressing the comment.

"Now, do you wanna shut your big mouth, or do you wanna go?"

"James Barnes, if you do not sit down this instant," Mr. Wickends said, his voice raising, "I will send you to the principal right now."

Bucky turned back to him with the same steel in his eyes. "You go ahead and do that," he told him, "and you'll be giving me permission to walk out this door, and then I'll go find Steve, because that's the only way this is gonna end."

His teacher opened his mouth to respond, but he was beaten to it by a quiet, defeated voice coming from the doorway.

"Bucky... just sit down."

He looked over sharply, and his eyes found his best friend standing in the doorway.

At least, he thought it was Steve.

It was a Steve he was used to, undaunted by, from every heartbreak the smaller boy had faced growing up, and especially since his mother had become sick and eventually died. From when he was sick and when he was weak and when he was feeling so broken that he couldn't imagine trying to face the world ever again.

But never at school. Never outside the confines of his house or Bucky's own.

Because Steve was standing there in a wrinkled shirt and trousers with a gaping hole in one knee. It revealed a deep, bloody, uncared-for concrete burn that stretched down, past the edges of the tear. The side of Steve's head was vaguely bloody, like he'd tried to wash it off in the shower but it hadn't come. His cheek on the same side was bruised with a cut running down it, and his lip was bleeding.

Furthermore, his eyes were red-rimmed, and he looked like he hadn't slept in days. He wasn't holding any weight on the leg with the injured knee, and his shoulders, usually set with so much strength, were slumped in utter defeat.

"Steve," he gasped, but his friend just held up one hand, shaking his head wearily.

"Mr. Rogers," Mr. Wickends greeted him. "nice of you to join us. You're late, so you'll be reporting to detention at the end of the day. Mr. Barnes, for that little scene, you will as well. Now, both of you, take a seat."

Steve obeyed with body language that made it clear he wished he was invisible.

Bucky sat as well, leaning forward as he did and hissing his friend's name again. "Steve!"

Once again, the smaller boy shook his head, making it clear he wasn't going to talk about it until after class.

The same boy Bucky had argued with before piped up again after they were seated. "So, what happened, Rogers? Did a little lost puppy eat you and then cough you back up cuz you're too bony?"

Bucky turned to look at him, frighteningly calm. "I've already got detention," he said, his voice low. "What have you got to lose?"

"Whatcha gonna do... hit me?" the guy hissed back.

"No," Bucky told him sharply. "Earlier you mentioned grinding Steve's face into the pavement. Since you went ahead and put a picture of that happening to my best friend in my brain, I'll be doing it to you."

They heard nothing else from behind them for the rest of the class.

By the time it was over, Bucky felt like he was going to explode from worry over what was going on with his best friend. As they headed out the classroom door and toward their next, he took hold of Steve's arm and dragged him the opposite direction.

When they'd reached a corner of the school that was relatively private, Bucky turned back to face the smaller boy and took a deep breath.

"Alright, Steve. You gonna tell me what's going on now?"

"We're gonna be late to class, that's what's going on," Steve sighed. "Can't this wait for lunch?"

"If you were looking we in the eye when you asked that," Bucky told him simply, "maybe it could. But you're not, and you haven't met my eyes once today, and you've got me really worried, Steve."

"Bucky," Steve sighed, his gaze still fixed on the ground. "I'm fine."

"Steve, have you seen you this morning?" his best friend sighed.

His shoulders slumped a little further, but he nodded slightly.

"Great," Bucky said simply. "Then you know I know that's a lie."

"Bucky..."

"Steve, just tell me what's going on. You know I'm gonna be right here no matter what."

"Bucky, I'm fi..."

The taller boy's hand found Steve's shoulder before he could finish the sentence, squeezing gently. "Steve. No matter what. The end of the line, you remember that?"

It was obvious Steve was barely biting back tears as he nodded wordlessly.

"So this should be the last time I have to ask this," Bucky said quietly. "What happened, Pal?"

Steve was silent for a long moment, but Bucky could feel the answer coming. When it did, it was barely audible, choked with those suppressed tears.

"I jumped."

Bucky felt his heart stop.

With everything inside of him panicking, he struggled to remain calm, remain strong for his friend, keeping his eyes fixed on the shorter boy even though his own were still on the ground.

"I had a dream," Steve continued softly. "Horrible one. About Dad, then Mom. Then you. And when I woke up, I just... I just... it felt like... so I jumped. Didn't do half as much as I hoped. Guy saw, but I... managed to avoid him. When I got back inside, I just... broke. Fell asleep on the couch, and then... didn't hear my alarm this morning." He shook his head slowly, briefly closing his eyes. "I... I... I jumped, Buck."

Bucky swallowed hard, using it to choke back his own tears and panic. "From where?" he asked quietly.

Steve's face broke in a final attempt to hold back the water pressing at the back of his eyes. "The bridge down the street from my place."

Bucky nodded slowly. "Okay. Okay." He took a deep, shaky breath before asking, "You said it was because of a dream. But had you ever thought about it before?"

Steve was shaking his head way too quickly. "No. I just... the dream..."

"Steve."

The last remaining shreds of strength dropped out of the smaller boy's shoulders as his gaze remained fixed on the floor. "I guess," he sighed. "it just... the past couple months... it's seemed like..." He shrugged helplessly. "I've thought about it some."

"Why didn't you tell me?" The question was soft and completely unaccusatory, only asked because Bucky was so desperate to understand.

"I just..." Steve hissed sharply as he continued to fight the tears. "You already do so much, Buck. I didn't... I didn't think I'd really... so I didn't wanna worry you... be any more of a burden than I already am. And I just... I thought I could make myself not feel like that... wish myself less broken. But I can't."

"Steve..." The word was choked out amongst tears that had finally gotten the best of him. "Steve, you're not broken, Pal." He took a deep breath. "You're not a burden. You've just... the last couple months have been hell for you. I can't... I can't imagine losing what you've lost, Steve. And you've always been so strong, but it's... it's okay to break down sometimes. You don't burden me when you do that, alright? You just give me a chance to love on my brother and show him he's not alone."

Faced with the tears streaming down Bucky's face, Steve could no longer fight his own. "Buck," he choked out. "Buck, I'm so sorry."

Bucky shook his head slowly. "Don't apologize. Don't... it's not like that. I just... Thank God you're alright, Steve!"

Steve's head was still down, and he shook it now as well. "I'm so sorry," he repeated despite his friend's last words. "I'm so sorry."

"Just..." Bucky choked out. "just come 'mere."

He held out his arms, and Steve stepped to meet him, keeping his head down but returning the hug with a sense of desperation.

"After school, we're gonna go by your place and get your stuff," Bucky told him quietly, "and then you're coming home with me."

"I know," the smaller boy managed, not even trying to argue.

"And you're not going back anytime soon."

"I know."

Bucky nodded, his voice shaking with the end of his tears as they finally stepped back. "And you're gonna come to me next time, right?"

For the first time that day, Steve met his gaze. "I'll try, Buck."

His friend actually managed a shaky, half-sad smile. "You're gonna be okay, Pal. You're gonna be okay."