Stucky One Shots

Number Forty: At The Door

Steve coughs harshly, his small frame jerking with the force. He was sick. He was always sick, and he hated it.

In the early thirties, Steve was coming up on fourteen years old, and his mother, Sarah, was trying her hardest to keep them both well fed and dressed, but economy and jobs were low and Sarah found little work trying to be an army nurse. Food was of sort supply, work even worse, money almost intangible. To make it all worse was the fact that Steve had the worst immune system ever. More often than not he was sick with something, be it fever or pneumonia or stomach bugs. He had quite the list of ailments; scarlet fever, asthma, diabetes, among many, many others.

////

"Steve, dear, I've got to run out for a couple minutes. Will you be fine here?" Sarah asks hurriedly, scooping her brown hair up into a bun.

"I'll be fine," he replies, looking absently out the window at the rest of the boys outside, laughing and kicking a ball in the sunset streets, the orange light leaked through his small open window and cast shadows on his small room. Sarah sighs a little, looking at her boy.

"Alright. Ms. Perkens is across from us, she'll be there, okay?" she says.

"Okay," Steve says, glancing over at her. His cheeks were flushed and his face was thin, eyes tired. She sighs again a little and walks over then smoothes his hair down and kisses his too warm forehead.

"See you in a bit," she says before walking out, closing the door gently behind her. He blows out a breath and coughs into the crook of his skeletal arm.

One brunette boy kicks the ball a little too hard and it rolls over to Steve's window. The boy trots over, his floppy hair in his face.

"Sorry 'bout that, kid," he says, picking up the dirty, battered red ball. He peers down at Steve, who looks back up at him. "Geez, kid, you ain't looking good."

"I'm not kid, my name's Steve," the blonde replies crossly, partly embarrassed to be seen sick in bed and partly because the brunette was a little distracting. He was taller than Steve, dirt was on his face and his eyes were bright, green and blue. His brown hair flopped over his left eye and if Steve had to guess, he looked about fifteen.

"Steve, huh? Pleasure to meet you. I'm Bucky," he introduces, a grin on his face. Steve smiles a little in return.

"Hey, Bucky! C'mon, Sickly Steve ain't comin' out! Toss the ball over, pal!"

Bucky glances over at the rest of the boys then back at Steve.

"Well, I'll see you around, Steve," he hums in his smooth voice before lobbing the ball at the others and running over. Steve watches him go with a sigh and he coughs harshly into his arm, jerking up, his small shoulders shaking. He reaches for his inhaler and grabs it with shaky hands, trying to drag air to his lungs but nothing was coming. He uses the inhaler quickly then sighs when he can breathe again. He leans back against his pillows and settles down, trying to get comfortable on the hard mattress. He watches the boys play ball and sorely wishes, the only wish he ever made, that he could be healthy.

////

The next few days that Steve was bedridden he was surprised to get visitors. Well, a visitor. Bucky had taken it upon himself to visit him every day. Steve loved the company but he wasn't sure why Bucky was bothering with him, Sickly Steve. But he was glad to have a friend, finally.

"Hey, pal," Bucky hums as he's let into Steve's room by Mrs. Rogers. She smiles at Steve before closing the door. The brunette drags a chair over and sits down in it, beside Steve's bed.
"Hi, Bucky," Steve smiles, sitting up a little against his pillows.

"How ya' feeling, punk?" Bucky asks, smoothing a crease in the bedspread.

"Fine," Steve lies. He had an alarmingly high temperature and his head was aching. Bucky gives him a look, a look that Steve was starting to get used to already.

"Don't kid me."

"Really, Buck, I'm better than yesterday," he insists and the brunette nods a little.

"Well, it's a start," the brunette muses, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms, he props his legs up on Steve's bed.

"Hey, you weren't in another fight, were you?" Steve asks, raising an eyebrow at his friend, noticing a faint ring, a bruise around Bucky's eye. The brunette looks down to the right for a fraction of a second before looking back up into Steve's blue-grey eyes.

"Well, yes," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. Steve frowns and crosses his arms. "They were talkin' bad about you, Steve."

"You don't have to be so protective, Buck," Steve replies with a slight roll of his eyes. Bucky smiles a little at him.

"Yes I do. You need me to," he answers and Steve looks at him. Bucky watches him calmly, his expression unreadable, and the blonde nods a little. He coughs suddenly and almost instantly pales, Bucky leans forward with a worried expression.

"Steve?" He asks worriedly when the blonde starts gasping between each painful sounding cough. The blonde scrambles around for his inhaler but he forgot he'd left it in his mother's room.

"Inhaler," Steve chokes, his face starting to go red. Bucky's up in a flash, searching through the apartment as fast as he can. Steve gasping rang in his ears as he jogged into Steve's mother's room and spotted it. He grabbed it and hurried back to him.

"Deep breathes, Stevie," Bucky whispers, looking scared. Steve grabbed it with trembling hands in used it once, twice, another time. "Don't do that. Please don't do that." Bucky breathes, leaning forward and clasping his head in his hands. Steve's breathing was still ragged but it was evening out.

"Sorry," he says quietly, his voice scratchy. Bucky shakes his head and hugs him. He knew he'd get protective as soon as he saw Steve that first day. He'd always been a protective, loyal one, he had a sister to look out for, after all.

"You should get some rest," Bucky sighs, a strand of Steve's hair falls into his eye and the brunette's tempted to brush it away. The blonde blows it out of his eye and looks up innocently at the brunette, his eyes were so tired looking. Bucky sighs again and pulls the blankets up around Steve, who doesn't protest. "Sleep well, punk. Get better, okay?" He says softly with a small smirk. The blonde smiles back tiredly.

"Jerk."

////

Everyday Bucky came and knocked at their door, everyday Sarah would come let him in, everyday he would have some joke ready for Steve, try to make him smile. Everyday just seeing him made Steve smile. This continued for years, until they were in their early twenties.

That's when Sarah Rogers was killed. She'd been working and out of nowhere the enemy attacked. She got shot, and couldn't shake it.

////

"I looked for you after the funeral, wonderin' if you wanted a ride," Bucky comments.

"I know, I just... kinda wanted to be alone," Steve mumbles, digging through his large coat pockets to try to find the key. Bucky kicks a concrete block to the side and picks up a spare, he hands it to the blonde who accepts it wordlessly.

"Hey, I was wonderin' if you'd like to come over, build a fort outta the couch cushions like when we were kids. C'mon, it'll be fun, all you gotta do is shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash," Bucky comments, watching the blonde who shakes his head a little.

"Thank you, Buck. But I can get by on my own," Steve says, glancing up at him. Bucky looks at him.

"Thing is, you don't have to," he says quietly and the blonde doesn't answer. Bucky claps a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. "I'm with you 'til the end of the line, pal." Steve smiles up at him. Forever, 'til the end of the line.

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Hey guys! Forty days of writing is officially complete! *happy dance* and I congratulate Spideymanandloki, who also completed this challenge, and did a killer job of it too. (If you haven't read her books, go ahead and read 'em now, she writes awesome Stucky fics.) I'm still taking requests but they will probably be mixed in with my regular writing. I'll make a note or something so people can tell the two apart.