Solace
All characters belong to Marvel Comics
(Edited by LeDbrite)
Coldness enveloped throughout the modest apartment located on the dingy streets of Brooklyn, the warmth of streetlamps reflected over the walls, James Buchanan Barnes, seventeen, sat on the edge of the small spring coiled mattress.
He was fighting against the strain tugging over his drumming heart thumping against his rib cage; he remained in a stoic composure.
He allowed the crisp December breeze to buffet over his solemn, youthful and chiseled face, a calming sensation to feel while he listened to Steve's thrashing, the soft detectable cries echoing through the shadows.
Bucky chanced a glance to stare deeply at his best friend struggling against the sickness that raked through his fragile body. Thin lines of discomfort etched across the boy's ashen, sweat-slacked forehead.
Golden tresses of hair curled over Steve's eyebrows as he trashed against the covers, shivering and jolting as the constricting pain slammed over his lungs.
Wrenching his wintry azure eyes away, Bucky fought against the grim and vivid images of a small grave with fading flower petals decaying in the soggy ground. A small marker that would hold the name of his blood brother in granite forever. He couldn't bare to think of those disheartening days, looking at an empty chair, unused by the kitchen table, flipping through Steve's tattered art book, staring at the memories drawn with choral, left behind by the artist, and mostly, not hearing feet pound against the sidewalks.
He needed Steve.
"You're going to make it, Steve," Bucky choked with a sparse voice, gently brushed his rough fingertips over Steve's vanilla colored, frail arms. Silently, he pulled the covers over Steve's heaving, bony chest, feeling his defiant soul shattered in pieces as he listened to the wheezing noises echo in his ears. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, teeth dug into the moist flesh, tasting the coppery tang of warm blood seep down his throat.
He fought against the spears of pain jabbing at his guarded heart, the faint breathing and harsh coughing engulfed his thoughts, feeling the fueling rage stream through his heated veins, as heaving gasps of breath escaped from Steve's pale chalked lips.
Bucky narrowed his teary gaze down at Steve, his mind became disturbed with intense waves as he watched his eyelids flutter open, revealing the shimmering irises of cobalt focusing on the shadows cloaking over the scuffed up dresser, the room's weathered door hinges and a metal bucket of water with a cloth hanging over the brim. Steve blinked slightly, wheezed and groaned. More fluid had invaded his lungs, mucus stuck like glue to his rib bones...It felt like never ending pressure on his narrow, sucked in chest. He felt it enthrall over his small muscles.
Warm tears falling steadily down his temples. Steve tried to move his lips to say Bucky's name, instead he winced feeling the jolt of pain surge through his body.
"Buck," Steve managed to say, fighting to unclog his vocal cords, his eyes were slowly dimming shut. "How long have you been here?" he asked quietly.
"Most of the night pal." Bucky answered, in a soothing voice. He smoothed the drenched bangs off of Steve's gleaming brow and looked deeply into his hazy eyes, the vibrant blue, the color of a crystal sea had faded into a stormy gray of encroaching fog of sickness.
He felt the stabbing pain spear through his heart-breaking it into jaded pieces. He never thought he would have his stubborn and determined friend in this vulnerable state of health and having his strong and noble spirit trapped inside a fragile and sickly shell of human existence. He always saw Steve as a fighter, a soldier, and a caring boy under the frail layers, the boy that he befriended years back in the schoolyard, not this helpless victim, a pitiful shell of a Brooklyn kid who was becoming weaker every day.
Underneath his resilient, steel layers, Bucky felt trapped within his own flesh and blood. Helpless, hopeless and desperate. He knew that he had to be strong for Steve; every hour he spent with him- he would give Steve his strength, comfort and unconditional love.
Inside the abyss stirring in the depths of his defiant soul, he was crying in agony-falling deep into the void that he'd thrown himself into when the despairing words of the doctor cloaked over him-with the proper antibiotics Steve would slowly die within a seven-day period.
"Fight this, punk," he muttered under his pained breath, clenching his hand into fists and gingerly caressed his fingers over Steve's pulse point while he glanced intensely at the rising and falling of his small chest. He watched his lips curl into a faint grimace, showing him the invasive pain. Bucky narrowed his eyes slowly and leaned in toward him, gently placing his large hand over Steve's thin wrists.
"You, okay, pal?" he asked with a hint of sentiment rolling off his tongue. He pulled his hand away and stared down at the faint marks of bluish bruising on the pale skin. "Is there anything you need?"
"Bucky," Steve said wearily, placing his cold hand on Bucky's knuckles. He opened his mouth and struggled to gather up his words. "You need to rest." He closed his eyes and coiled his fingers over the dark-haired teenager's forearm. "I'm alright..." he managed to whisper after a long pained exhale.
"Like hell you are, Steve," Bucky erupted out a hiss, stiffening his lips into an indignant frown. He felt the shivers of Steve's small body creep into his bones as he lifted his hand and eased his palm flat on his friend's feverish sweaty brow. "You're temperature hasn't gone down and your skin is ice-cold."
Steve opened his eyes faintly, alert to the warmth radiating from Bucky's hand. It was comforting and took the pain away briefly. He shifted against the pillow, his blue eyes blinking as tiny squares of light collected into his pupils. He blinked his heavy, throbbing eyelids, trying to seek relief from the blinding pain flirting through his frail body, the rest of his senses were on high alert to soothing gentleness of Bucky's fingers lightly rubbing over his temples.
Gingerly, he attempted to move his neck, the numbness in his muscles leaving him powerless. His soul hated feeling imprisoned in a weak body. He hated being nursed by his best friend and hated being locked indoors while the world moved on without him.
"Do you want me to get you some water?" Bucky whispered. His voice firm and soothing, Steve closed his eyelids again as Bucky placed his hand over his achy chest and felt his heart beat. "I'm sorry you're not feeling all that well, Steve."
He lowered his hand and pulled out a steel tin case from a pocket of his trousers, and lifting the lid off which revealed a cluster of lemon drops. "I got these from the drugstore today—don't worry it's not candy if that's what you're thinking. They're..." He paused in his words, holding a drop up to a shaft of light bisecting the dark room from the glass window of the bedside's window.
"Well, I think its some form of medicine that's you can take." He spoke with his rich and gruff Brooklynese accent, as he drawled and extended out a hand to Steve. "It's not going to kill you, pal."
Steve tore his blue eyes away and pulled the sheet over his face ashamed, coughing and tried to hide the wrenched illness from his strong and protective best friend. He didn't want Bucky to see him in a pitiful state, weak and useless, no, he wanted to become brave and fight against it-he wanted to prove that he wasn't a weak skinny kid.
"Buck, I can handle this on my own," he digressed in a strained voice. "I want you to quit worrying about and go live your life. That's what I want you to do; I've used you as a crutch to lean on long enough. It's because of me you don't a have a beautiful dame to dance with every night." He peeled his lips open against the sheet and forced out a ragged sigh; "I'm holding you back from having a better-a good life." He admitted, not wanting to meet Bucky's eyes. "It's because of me you suffer and live in this shack; you could be living like a king of New York if it wasn't for my illness dragging you down," Steve growled with a righteous tone.
Bucky frowned. "I don't care about that, Steve," he scoffed out in reply, wanting to pry the sheet off of Steve's paled face. "I don't care about your illnesses and body type affecting my life style. It's not your fault, you hear me, punk." He gritted his teeth, wrenching his teary gaze away. Biting down on his lip, he blew out a sigh, "I know it hasn't been easy for us, but things will get better." He craned his neck and trained his puppy-dog like blue eyes on Steve's sullen face; he narrowed his head slightly down with a reassuring smile breaking over his lips. "You will get stronger." he winked, matching his confident and tender expression. "Just wait and see."
"I want to be strong...For you. I want to be strong and free from this stupid illness that keeps on making me weak. I want to dance with a beautiful dame without worrying that she might step on me, and you're everything I wish I could be, Bucky."
He pulled down the sheet and stared at his friend with his glistening deep, sullen blue eyes. "You're fearless, brave and darn right healthy." he coughed out a lung full, his eyes watered with pained tears rolling down his sunken in cheekbones. "I'm a sick nobody, Bucky..."
-"I'm not afraid of dying, Buck," Steve forced a pained grimace of a smile, looking up at his friend, his blue eyes held the sunlight and face was always honest.
"I know, Steve," Bucky blew out a disdainful breath, his lips mustered up a small smile, unable to conceal his pain twisting on his chiseled face.
"Will you come and visit me?"
Bucky reluctantly shifted his passive gaze to the empty plot next to Sara Rogers, he breathed out deeply, "Of course I'll visit you, punk." he nearly choked out his words, shuddering as a stray tear came into contract with his skin. He watched Steve shiver under the thin layer of his frayed coat. "Hey," he whispered, questioning him, as a big brother should, his face crumbling into a mask of concern. "You alright there, little Stevie?"
Steve nodded, stubbornly, barely answering him with chattering teeth, "I'm fine, Buck."
"No, you're not fine," Bucky protested back, opening his arms and wrapping the golden haired boy into a warm embrace, feeling his frail arms cling over his sides. "You're cold as ice..." He felt Steve's ashen skin with a gentle touch. "We need to get you back to the apartment..."
"No," Steve shook his head. "I just want to stay here with you, please, Bucky?"
"Okay," Bucky agreed, holding his friend close to feel Steve's weakened heart beating, "Stay close to me..."
"Uh hell, Steve, you want to be like me? A Brooklyn kid with no dreams of a future?" Bucky lowered his face down, gritting his teeth, "Yeah, you've got some health problems, but I'll be honest with you, pal. You've got something that most men wish they had...you've got heart. That is your greatest strength. So stop beating yourself up and think you're nothing because to me you are someone who I will lay down my life for..." He lifted his head and reached out his hand, gripping his fingers over Steve's bony shoulder and giving a gentle squeeze as his warm, soulful blue eyes stared deeply at Steve. "You're my friend, Steve Rogers."
Steve dropped his gaze down with a crooked and weak smile. "Even though I have nothing, Buck. I have you," he said with a truthful gleam in his glassy eyes, meeting his friend's sincere, luminous blue eyes in the darkness. "That's all I really need, my friend."
Hearing those words tug on his heartstrings, Bucky's eyes began to water, "Dammit, Steve," He instantly swiped the wetness off his cheeks; he slid his hand over his temple and brushed back his sweaty hair. "You're making me spill out the water works," he sobbed, pulling Steve into a brotherly hug, with his muscular arms resting over his flimsy back, holding him tight.
"Thank you, Buck," Steve wheezed out, nuzzling his face against his graven chest.
"Don't mention it, punk." Bucky felt a warm smile reside on his lips, before closing his eyes, he allowed all the heat of his body to drain and emanate into Steve's bone chilled frame. He could feel the unrelenting, harsh anger clot in his veins, his fingers stroked through Steve's shortened locks, easing the young boy's distress, feeling his own heart falter against his chest. Deep inside, he knew that Steve's life was hanging by a thread, and it was up to him to find a way-some way to save his friend from the cold hands of death. "Stay with me, pal," he whispered over Steve, his blue eyes glistening wetly in the obscurity of city light.
He refused to let Steve go.
Bucky looked down at Steve's face, lax with exhaustion and fear, a tear managed to slope down his broad jaw, he placed his hand over Steve's heart, feeling the faint beat and strength the little guy forced to hold with each harsh breath. He pressed his lips into a frown, shaking his head. "You're my best friend..." His soul hummed out his sorrow. "Steve...I...I would be nothing without you..."
"At least we have each other, Buck," Steve weakly said, placing his hand over his friend's thumping heart. It was strong.
"You mean I'm stuck with you forever?" Bucky jeered back lightly, holding Steve close to him. He didn't care if he froze.
Turning his glistening blue eyes to the frosted window, he noticed specs of snow beginning to fall. In that desperate moment when it seemed all hope was lost, Bucky felt Steve's heartbeat getting stronger. A faint smile tugged at his lips. He knew Steve was going to have the victory as long as he stayed by his side.
"We can make Steve," Bucky whispered, his eyes slowly closing.
"I know we will, Buck, because we're Brooklyn boys. Nothin' gonna stop us."
Bucky didn't answer at first, he just held onto Steve protectively, and he felt winter's breath enter through the bones of his left arm.
"Go to sleep, Steve," he spoke in a drowsy, but sure voice. "I've got your back," he promised, whispering against Steve's ear. "Always."