the tables have turned | steve/bucky

chapter nine

Bucky was in some type of coma, they said, but that's all they said.

I believed that Bucky's condition was plummeting by the minute, but neither Tony nor his staff would give me an honest answer on his health. I begged the them to be frank with me, but they just wouldn't.

I sat in a quiet frenzy in Tony's guest suite at Stark Tower. Tony gave me the room closest to his personal hospital. He tried to do everything to make me feel better, but his efforts were all shot down. I felt a sense of shame for being so bitter towards him. Tony was sometimes a jackass, but under all that sarcasm and ego, he was a good man.

Rage ferociously burned at the pit of my stomach. How was this fair? After everything Bucky and I have been through, sickness threatened to tear us apart!

I paused for a split second. Sickness threatened to tear us apart. I fell back onto the bed, awestruck. The thought replayed in my head over and over again as I stared up at the ceiling.

And then it hit me. All those years ago, I was sick. I was the one who was bedridden. I was the one facing death.

But now I'm on the other side of things. God, did Bucky always feel this way? Did he feel this sense of uselessness? No, no. That's crazy. Of course he didn't... right?

Days passed and Bucky was still trapped in himself. I did everything to get my mind off of him. I exercised often, did a few drug busts with Nat. But I was always half there. A part of me lingered with Bucky, distracting me from the here and now...

Fury was still pissed about me bringing Bucky to the safe house, even after we explained what really happened. Hey, but his names is Fury for a reason, right?