Marvel One Shots & Head Canons

Lung Caner Kills

Yet another raking couch tore through Steve's petite frame making it feel like his ribs were gonna snap right out of his rib cage. His mom was by his side immediately rubbing his hunched back as he leaned forward giving way to yet another fit of coughs. He sunk back against the mound of pillows behind him, his emaciated body seeming to disappear completely in the wide hospital bed. He was spending yet another birthday, his 18th to be specific, in the hospital this time because of a summer cold that had turned into pneumonia. He felt immensely remorseful for doing this to his mother once again, they were struggling enough already, she didn't need the added worry not to mention fees of his relentless health issues.

Steve was heaved out of the comfortable depths of sleep by the hospital room's door protesting whine as someone shoved it open. He heard the soft thud as it hit the wall. He burrowed deeper into the mattress, willing the pillow he was clutching over his eyes to be enough to make the nurse miss him. alas she didn't and Steve let out a loud sigh as he felt a hand begin to pull it off of him. The much too bright fluorescent lights blinded him and he groaned out a wheezy "fight me" as he made one last weak attempt at keeping the pillow where it shielded his eyes. Steve was more than surprised when he heard a deep rumbling chuckle, almost like the sound of faint rolling thunder, filled the room. The laugh was followed by the most rich, and smooth voice Steve had ever heard.

"Nah you would just kick my ass." Steve just barely caught the mischievous glint in the young mans eyes before it morphed back into a more professional cast as he began taking his vitals. "You know you can turn the light off right? Or is this a suicide attempt?" The still nameless nurse finally pulled the stethoscope from his ears and looped it over his shoulder and looked at Steve expectantly. Steve's breath caught in his throat as the man's crystal blue eyes shone with an unidentifiable spark as they made eye contact for the first time. A sputtering cough came out instead of the witty retort he had planed.

"I'm James, but you can call me Bucky and I really hope that pillow was just to shade your eyes." 

"These pillows aren't nearly thick enough to smother even me. You guys should take that up at the next meeting its really quite ridiculous." Steve huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I will add it to our agenda." The tall brunette smiled down at him. "Your vitals are looking stables but I still hear bilateral crackles in your lungs so let me tell the doctor and see if we can't get you some stronger cough meds that cough is only going to make it worse." 

"That's what I'm saying." Steve grumbled, but nodded appreciatively before 'Bucky' walked out.

________

Steve was miserably bored. His lungs had gotten even worse during the night, despite his strong belief that they were already just about as bad as the lungs on any 18 year old could possibly get without cancer being a part of the problem. But maybe that was the actual issue, unidentified stage four lung cancer disguised as chronic pneumonia. Steve sighed sending him into yet another fit of high pitched wheezing couches, that seemed so strong they could rattle his crooked spine back into place. Death by a million paper cuts, Steve decided, would be a preferred death to this shit show. He looked over to the window, the encouraging gray concrete of the neighboring building stared back at him and he rolled his eyes at the massively flawed architecture of this institute. Why even make a fucking window when all one can see is a wall anyways? Just then the door sprung open reveling James' bulging upper body and much too giddy face, gleaming like a fucking Christmas tree. Steve scoffed, disappointed in how poorly Bucky played along with his own welcomed pessimism.

"Fight me." It was less of an invitation and more of a marginally politer way of saying 'fuck you', but Steve didn't see that as an entirely fitting greeting for this otherwise delightfully handsome personal sponge bather, so he settled for the first option.

"How is my favorite patient?" James' nauseatingly optimistic approach made Steve's eyes roll back in their sockets.

"I should have smoked while I had the chance." He grumbled causing Bucky to laugh, and Steve hated to admit that the sound seemed to lighten his otherwise permanently sour mood. He was literally dying, so he deemed it one hundred and four percent appropriate that he be less than jolly. So how dare this James come in to his room and change that? 

Bucky quickly began the usual routine. Checking his temperature, checking his heart rate, listening to his breathing, and on and on. Steve hated to admit it but James' hand felt quite wonderful as it settled around his upper arm in an attempt to secure the much to large blood pressure device around his limb. Steve was acutely aware of Bucky's hand on him, the touch felt nearly scaling hot against his bare skin. The heat radiated all the way down to his finger tips and Steve fought to suppress a shiver. Much too soon the device beeped and the calloused palm was removed, it's solid warmth gone with it. As Steve watched James leave he felt an uncomfortable and majorly uninvited longing for the next time he would have a chance to feel Bucky's hands all over him. Of course Steve was aware that the touching was simply a requirement for James to do his job but he definitely didn't mind spending the long and lonely, sleepless, night imagining what it would be like if those flawless hands were to roam his body for some other purpose than pure obligation. And the smell, Steve inhaled deeply at the thought, he would kill for those few seconds while Bucky reached across the bed and his broad chest hovered right in front of Steve's nose. Steve loved that he didn't just smell like some generic Axe perfume shit, no he had an entirely unique fragrance, rich and spicy with a fresh minty twist that made the pungent and heavier undertones seem all the more attractive. It was a scent that literally made Steve's entire body buzz with craving. Okay so maybe it was a little weird that Steve knew exactly what James smelled like, but it was his own fault for being too lazy to go around the bed. Steve scoffed and pulled his knees against his chest, tucking the bony lumps under his chin. A lot of things were questionable in Steve's life, would he make it another year? Would he graduate high school? Would he get into art school? But the two things he did know was one. His mom loved him unconditionally no matter his health nor sexuality. Two. He was most defiantly under some bull shit spell, because no fucking way could he be in love with the nurse. Apparently James had a life outside of playing nurse because Steve didn't see him until the following week when James in his usual dark blue scrubs popped into the room reeking of distasteful optimism.

"Hey Stevie, good news you're getting out!" Steve arched a brow but said nothing. "Yeah, your Phenomena is gone so the coughing is just your body getting rid of the last remaining fluid and mucus, it should be gone by next week." A weird swirl of disappointment slithered into his mind and he was immediately concerned for his mental health. Why the fuck would he be any sort of unhappy with getting out of this shit hole? The answer was plan as day, and standing in front of him with a clipboard in the hands that should be touching him and a stupid grin plastered across his way too pretty face. Steve nodded. the chances of him staying out of this place for more than a few months was low anyway. It only took a second to sign the discharge papers and then Steve was out of bed heading for the door, his one bag slung over James' shoulder. They spit at the elevator and as the doors closed Steve felt a nagging weight on his already quivering shoulders. He walked through the entrance hall with small labored steppes as he lugged the duffle bag behind him. just as he was about to slip through the big glass doors someone yelled his name in a high-pitched breathless voice. he stopped and turned towards the speaker. A young woman also in scrubs was jogging towards him. She handed him a card and rattled off some explanation then ran off before he had a chance to ask her to repeat herself. He muttered a useless and most confused thank you then walked out of the hospital. Outside the streets were a highway of bodies moving among each other and Steve plopped down on the edge of a flower bed and observed the intricate dance of rushed Manhattaners moving with each other. he remembered the card and looked down at the inked surface. "Fight me? 718-707-1944" was printed on the white note card.