Chapter Text
Jim tossed a grape into the air and expertly caught it in his mouth. "So, are you pumped for game day, or what?"
"One of these days you're going to choke. I know you all are used to the sound of coughing from hanging around me all the time, but I for one don't want to see that," Steve chided.
"Oh would you relax," Jim retorted.
"No. I refuse," Steve quipped, only to get pelted by a grape.
"That's just wasteful," Gabe said.
"Getting Steve Rogers to chill the fuck out is never a waste," Timmy pointed out.
"I second that," Bucky chuckled. "And to answer your question: yes, I am absolutely psyched for game day." That's what he said out loud. But on the inside, Bucky's nerves were weaving themselves into tangles. When he not only made the team but became starting goalie as a freshman, a feat unheard of in the history of the school, he'd been elated. Only now that their first game of the season loomed just hours away did he realize how much pressure to perform he was under. If he messed up he'd not only let his entire team down but he'd also prove why kids his age shouldn't be allowed to start.
"We are going to demolish them," Gabe said, punching his open hand with a fist to emphasize his point.
"I don't know about demolishing," Bucky admitted. "Maybe edging out."
"We'll see," Timmy said. "And you'll be able to find us in the stands pretty easily with all the noise we'll be making."
"I look forward to it."
~0~
Bucky easily located his friends in the stands when he walked out onto the field. Not because of their raucous cheering but because they'd somehow managed to score front row seats. The front row was usually reserved for the parents and friends of seniors and the occasional alumnus. He suspected Steve had something to do with it. Now that he used oxygen full-time he got what he wanted just by asking more often than not. Bucky tried not to feel jealous of the special attention his friend usually received, and for the most part he succeeded because he knew about the many, many downsides to being chronically ill. Still, it was impossible to keep the feeling at bay one hundred percent of the time.
He stood in the huddle with his teammates, all of them with their blue jerseys and him with his white. It was somewhat alienating to wear a different color as the goalie, but at the same time it made him recognize how special his job was. That's right, he could actually use his hands without getting penalized for it.
Gabe elbowed him in the side. He was the only member of his and Steve's friend group to also make the soccer team, though he wasn't starting. It was unlikely he'd see any game play today unless one of the upperclassmen got injured. "Where's the half bun?" he asked. Only now that he mentioned it did Bucky remember the deal. When they tried out, he and Gabe vowed that if they didn't make the team they'd shave their heads to broadcast their failure to the entire school. It was excellent incentive to play well at try-outs. Bucky jokingly proposed a counter-deal that if by some miracle he ended up starting he'd wear his hair half-up in a bun for the first game of the season. Evidently Gabe hadn't recognized it as a joke.
"Fine," Bucky grumbled. He'd been planning just to let his shoulder-length brown hair sit loose during the game since it didn't exactly get in his way, but he wasn't one to renege on a deal.
"You look gorgeous, Buck," Gabe jeered.
"Shut up."
After a quick pep talk from Coach Phillips, they broke the huddle and prepared for the beginning of the game. Bucky's anticipation of playing the sport that he loved washed away his nerves almost entirely. He took up his position in the goal and waved to Steve. Though he was much too far away to hear and he didn't know how to read lips, he could just tell that Steve said, "Love the hairdo." It was the look on his face that gave it away. Just before the game began, the stands erupted with howls.
It was a strange way to show school spirit, yes. Visiting teams always gave them weird looks. But it was traditional. They were the Hudson Creek High School Howling Commandos, so it was only fitting. Bucky didn't know what asshole had decided that was a good mascot, but it was the one they were stuck with. He also didn't know where the school got its name since there was no such place as Hudson Creek anywhere nearby, but nobody knew. It just was.
The howling died down just as the ball was released onto the field. Bucky slipped into the zone, letting everything escape his attention but the flash of black and white flitting around the field. His position was very hurry-up-and-wait, especially compared to the constant running of the midfielders, but patience was just as much a skill as speed and agility. He couldn't let himself relax because the ball could change directions any minute. If he let his attention lapse for even half a second, that could be the half second someone made a shot that got past him.
The defenders on his team ensured he didn't have to make any saves for the first eight minutes of the game. He had his eye on a player called Zemo on the opposing team. He'd gotten closer to shooting than anyone else. Sure enough, it was him that finally kicked the ball into Bucky's territory. It wasn't a particularly difficult save; Bucky took one controlled step to the left and reached out, his hand easily blocking the ball from entering the goal. A victorious smile erupted on his face in response to Zemo's glare. One of Bucky's teammates gained control of the ball and he relished in the crowd's cheering and howling at his success.
He made two saves of a similar caliber, one of which was from Zemo. Bucky's skills weren't really put to the test until the last three minutes of the game. They were up one to nothing against the Red Skulls, and Bucky would not allow this to become a tie game. Zemo approached his goal once again and Bucky dropped to a slight crouch in the center, ready to spring either direction to protect his net. The ball flew in slow motion. It soared toward the top left corner and Bucky immediately sprang towards it, swatting the ball out of midair and sending it off to the side of the field. He'd put so much force behind the jump, intent only on gaining enough altitude to reach the ball, that he hadn't noticed how close to the post he was. His momentum carried him far enough that his left shoulder smacked into the upright white bar. The pain was blinding, but so was the uproar in the crowd. The bleachers shuddered with stomping feet and the air sang with celebratory howls.
The Commandos scored another goal with twenty seconds left in the game and they knew they'd won. His first game of the season was officially under his belt and Bucky considered it a complete success. Coach Philips had nothing but praise to share with them after they shook hands with the opposing team. Bucky noticed the player called Zemo squeezed his hand extra tight. After a brief celebration with the team and a promise of more victory revels later, he and Gabe set off in search of their friends. Gabe had actually gotten in a few minutes of playing time and he was over the moon about it. Timmy spotted them first and waved them over.
"Dude, that last save was awesome!" Jim commended Bucky with a strong pat on the shoulder—the one which hadn't quite stopped dully throbbing. He forcibly turned a wince into a smile and thanked him.
Timmy continued, "You looked like a rocket taking off."
"Great job, Buck," Steve said with a smile. Bucky took his praise to heart the most. He reminded himself to ask his best friend later how he'd scored front row seats.
"How about Gabe's footwork?" Bucky asked, offering his friend some of the glorious attention.
"Spectacular," Jim said.
"Truly remarkable," Timmy added.
"The only thing truly remarkable is the fact that our parents haven't swarmed us yet," Gabe remarked.
"Here they come." Bucky pointed to a squadron of adults, the parents of everyone in the friend group who had turned into a friend group of their own because of all the time they inevitably spent together.
"Congratulations!" Bucky's mom got to him first. She plastered an embarrassingly long kiss to his temple. Jim stuck his tongue out so only Bucky could see. "And I love what you've done with your hair." This time, it was Gabe's turn to make a face.
"Excellent work, you guys," Timmy's father told them.
"Thanks Mr. Dugan," Bucky and Gabe replied.
"Did you guys enjoy the spectacle?" Gabe asked.
"I'm so glad Steve begged us not to come, because otherwise I doubt we would've, and we so enjoyed it," Mr. Rogers said with a chuckle.
"Steve? You begged them not to come?" Bucky turned to his friend with an accusatory glare. "To the grand opening of my high school soccer career?"
"You know how they get," Steve said sheepishly. His mother proved his point by hugging him for absolutely no reason.
"You must be so proud of your friend," she said.
"Yep. Super proud." The look in Steve's eyes screamed, "Help me," but Bucky only smirked. It was a well-known fact that Sarah Rogers was a hoverer. She'd confessed to it and everything. Apparently it was pretty common in parents of only children, especially ill only children. Her being a nurse certainly didn't help either.
"You feel warm," she stated, suddenly concerned instead of deliberately over-endearing.
"I'm fine, Mom," Steve insisted. She did this rather often; noticed something off about Steve only for it to turn out to be nothing. But sometimes it did turn out to be something. Bucky hoped this wasn't one of those times. They'd just started high school and Steve's last hospital stay had been barely two months ago. He couldn't go back now, not when he'd just been elected class president.
His mother believed him and they resumed their revels. That night Bucky's parents took him out to dinner, just the three of them, to celebrate. "You proved that freshies can hold their own on the field," his father told him. That was all Bucky had set out to do. Prove his worth. And he'd actually done it. With the entire rest of the season before him, Bucky looked forward to continuing to prove it.
~0~
He earned the nickname after their first playoff game. The entire season up to now, Bucky hadn't let in a single goal. For the first time in years, the Howling Commandos were the team to beat. Coach Phillips practically glowed whenever he so much as laid eyes on Bucky during practice. Apparently he'd taken some heat for allowing a freshman to start in place of an upperclassman, but nobody doubted his decision now. Even the starting goalie from last season, now relegated to backup, didn't seem the least bit embittered or jealous. In fact, he commended Bucky on his excellent work multiple times during practices.
The offenders on the opposing team were ruthless, and Bucky's muscles ached from multiple leaping saves. There'd been a few close calls, but his perfect record remained intact. His left shoulder throbbed in time with his heartbeat, likely aggravated from landing on it a few times. The ball came soaring towards him once again, and he dove right. Bouncing off his outstretched hand, the ball soared back out into the sea of players. Bucky hoped it would find a teammate, but he had no such luck. Still on the ground from the first save, Bucky scrambled to his hands and knees. The ball flew straight toward another offender, who sent it flying right back into the now empty half of the net. Bucky gathered his feet beneath him and pounced.
He didn't even know if he succeeded until he heard the crowd. The deep ache in his shoulder was too distracting. Until now, he could ignore it, but it had grown strong enough that his mind alone couldn't keep it at bay. Though he hated to admit it, taking himself out of the game might be necessary at this point. But then he heard the chanting.
"White Wolf! White Wolf!" punctuated by howls of delight and joyous stomping of feet in the stands. The surge of pride and adrenaline was enough to help him forget the agony. The Howling Commandos soared to a one-nothing victory. Bucky stumbled off the field in an elated daze, and Coach Philips was there to shout excitedly about his double-diving save. He was rambling about Bucky's future in the sport, the FIFA World Cup, and even Funko Pop figures. He sounded so excited that Bucky didn't have the heart to tell him, instead let the rambling continue and decided just to tell his parents and ask their advice later tonight. The excitement of advancing in the playoffs didn't diffuse Bucky's nagging worry that he might be injured. What if it was bad enough that he had to miss the next game? He'd literally just earned a cool nickname; everyone might forget about it if he got benched.
Later that day, Bucky mustered up the courage to broach the subject to his mom. "I think I hurt my shoulder."
"What's that?" she asked. Either she didn't hear him the first time or didn't believe what she heard.
"I think I hurt my shoulder," he repeated a little less quietly. Saying it again only worsened his fears.
"Do you know how?"
"Not really. I mean, I've landed on it a bunch this season, but not that much more than usual."
"How long has it been hurting?"
"A few weeks maybe."
"And you neglected to bring this to anyone's attention until now?" she scolded.
"It wasn't that bad before. It was off and on."
"It was bad enough for you to notice. Didn't they have a whole seminar about injury awareness before they let you play a school sport?"
"They did," Bucky sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. I thought it might go away, but now it's obvious that it won't."
"Does it hurt right now?"
"Yeah," he admitted.
"Okay. Why don't you take some Advil and we'll take you to urgent care tomorrow."
"Okay."
The Advil didn't even touch the pain, and he lay awake all night from a combination of nervousness and agony. He couldn't lie on his left side without making it worse, and even being on his back put pressure on the sore spot. The next morning couldn't come soon enough.
At urgent care, they asked him a bunch of inane questions about his history and whatnot. He was only half paying attention. They moved the joint through its entire range of motion and asked if any position hurt worse than another. None of them did. At this point it was just an all-consuming ache deep in his shoulder. They palpated it from different angles, and one spot definitely caused a spike. After everything, the best answer they could give him was that landing on it repeatedly had caused swelling. So they sent him home with a sling and told him to ice it and keep taking over the counter pain meds.
He gritted his teeth for three days and tried to believe they would start working, but it became evident that they accomplished nothing. Explaining to Coach Philips that he was injured and couldn't practice might have been the hardest thing he ever had to do. They were in the playoffs now; they couldn't afford to lose their goalie. Since there was no official diagnosis, neither of them gave up hope that he'd be okay to play in the next match.
When those three days of rest and ice did absolutely nothing to ease the pain or the swelling, Bucky's mom got him in for an MRI, and that hope was completely obliterated. The scan revealed a mass.