the tables have turned | steve/bucky

chapter eight

Tony set Bucky up in his own little hospital room. He got him situated on one of those fancy beds that soften and hardens at the push of a button. That was good for Bucky. He didn't deserve to sleep on the floor.

As I stood up against the wall watching Bucky watch TV on his bed made in heaven, a pretty young nurse came in and shoved some needles in his arms. She threw him a flirty smile—maybe even winked—before walking out. I scowled at her back. Bucky caught me.

"Thought you were mad at me," Bucky quietly said. His bruised eyes were fixated on me, his lips were twitching.

"I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at your actions." I grumbled. I tried to make myself sound irritated, but I could tell he was looking right through it. I crossed my arms over my chest.

Bucky cleared his throat. "Then allow me to explain."

"Bucky..."

"No. You need to know. I wasn't trying to fool you by disappearing; I just didn't want my absence to worry you—"

He hacked nastily, cutting his words right off. When our eyes met, I jumped at the sight of blood dripping from his mouth. He blinked, and then fell back onto the bed, shaking violently. I bolted to his side and tried to hold him down. I didn't know what to do. His monitors persistently beeped as his body violently shook. What was happening? My mind raced. My heart was going a mile a minute.

Two nurses exploded through the door with a doctor racing behind them. They tried hurrying me out of the room, but not without a fight. I screamed Bucky's name at the top of my lungs, kicking and thrashing as three or four security guards pulled me out. The last thing I saw was Bucky lifelessly staring up at the ceiling.