Chapter 24: Steve

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That day in an alley of Brooklyn had been like any other. Steve was honestly surprised he remembered it so well. Something about the kid had made an impression on him. 

He was only fourteen, walking back home to his mom from school. Normally, Bucky would walk home with him to keep him company, but he was sick with a cold. So, Steve was left alone to wander the streets of Brooklyn. A shiny new model of a Chrysler whizzed by, and honked its horn at Steve. He turned around to see the jeering face of one of his rich classmates who got joy out of bullying the skinny asthmatic. 

Steve rolled his eyes and ignored it, instead keeping his eyes trained on the ground before him. However, his attention actually was piqued when he heard a distressed young voice say, "Hey!"

Steve turned around again, this time actually walking towards the source of the scream. He turned the corner into an alley between two faded brick buildings. He tried to remain quiet as he approached.

Two burly teenagers with close cropped hair, wearing suspenders over white undershirts, towered threateningly over two other kids, both younger than Steve. The two smaller kids had slightly faded olive skin. The girl wore a green floppy beanie over her mop of black hair, and was wearing a long brown coat over a skirt that reached just below her knees with a white collared shirt. The even younger boy also had black hair that swooped over his face, and was wearing shorts with knee socks and shabby shoes. He had a sweater vest on, with short sleeves peeking out from under it.

Both of their expressions were terrified. The girl clutched the boys hand, and he squeezed her hand equally hard. His eyes caught Steve's, and they flashed with hope.

Help, he mouthed. Please

How could Steve turn let a kid as cute as he was get beat up by a couple of thugs? Steve may have been small (and only 14), but his moral compass was as strong as ever. He smiled encouragingly at the little kid, and the boy turned his head up, instilled with courage.

"Hand over your wallets," one of the teens growled. "Now!"

The girl started to reach into her pocket, hands shaking. 

"Hey!" Steve said, bracing himself and puffing out his nonexistent chest. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"

Steve was, in fact, not their size. He was much, much, much skinnier. And shorter.

The thugs skinned around, frowns deep on their face. One of them burst out into laughter when they saw Steve.

Ouch.

"What are you gonna do?" one of them sneered. 

Steve didn't really know. So instead, he let his instincts take over, and he charged.

Maybe that was a not-so smart idea. 

Steve got two punches in.

Before he could do anything else, he got knocked backwards by a simple push from one of the boys. Immediately, his asthma acted up and he couldn't breathe. His lungs were burning, and his vision started to form spots. He gasped for air, but nothing made it in and out of his respiratory. He was sprawled out on the ground, and dug into his pockets for his inhaler. It didn't work all of the time, but it usually helped. 

The bullies were still laughing hysterically at Steve's feeble attempt to defend the kids. He glanced up enough to see that one of them was doubled over, clutching his stomach while simultaneously wiping tears from his eyes. Steve felt a kick to his chest, making him gasp even more violently. He tried to grab his inhaler, it realized it was a few feet away from him, having skittered across the ground.

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