Stomping mud all over the clean floor, Bucky and Steve entered the tiny house, laughing the whole way. As the patter of rain against the wooden stairs was muffled by the closing door, Steve's chuckles downgraded into coughs. Concern shot through Bucky and he quickly sobered.
"You alright?" he inquired, palm hovering uncertainly mere inches above Steve's back.
Bent double with the strength of the fit, Steve waved a hand to indicate that his friend's attention was unwarranted. After a minute which Bucky spent cursing himself for dragging Steve out in the rain, the blond straightened and gave his companion a reassuring grin. "Never better."
At those words, Bucky internally cringed. To his ears they sounded like 'I will never get better.' And that was more true than either of them was willing to admit. Steve was well into his teenage years, yet he was still plagued with the same maladies he had fallen victim to as a child. Everyone had been so optimistic that he would outgrow the racing heart, the coughing fits, the frequent fevers. That was years ago. Since then, it appeared that Steve's health had only deteriorated. Bucky knew the statistics. People this sick didn't live to adulthood. It was a thought that scared him every time Steve sneezed.
"Buck?" Steve called.
Bucky started. He had been unaware of his temporary lapse in attention.
"Are you still with me?" Steve teased, crossing the short distance from the back door to the little kitchen.
"Yeah, I just…" Bucky trailed off and shrugged.
"And everyone says you've got all the brains." Steve shook his head dramatically before disappearing into the cupboard.
"Who says that?' Bucky stepped forward, knowing that Steve was relentlessly mocked by others with all manner of insults because of his small size.
Expertly selecting a soup pot from the drawer and, with practiced ease, positioning it under the leak in the kitchen roof, Steve raised one shoulder and let it drop. "You know."
"No, I don't know," Bucky argued, thinking back on how he hadn't bloodied anyone's nose recently.
Steve collected the few mugs from their designated shelf and moved around Bucky, setting the cups in various places around the shack in order to catch the raindrops that slid through holes in the ceiling. "Well, you seem to be living your life just fine without knowing so there's really no point in telling you."
He sounded cheerful but Bucky knew that every degrading comment hung around Steve's neck like a millstone.
"Come on, Steve. Who was it?" he inquired.
"It's not a big deal, Bucky." Steve returned to the kitchen and pulled out a couple of plates.
"Was it Bartholomew Stanford?" Bucky accused.
Sections of fresh bread were placed on glassware while Steve shook his head and raised blue eyes to Bucky. "Let it go, Buck. I was only kidding around."
The tight lines around the corners of his mouth and the set of his jaw told Bucky that it was more than a joke. "It was Old Grouch Thompson, wasn't it?"
"Bucky," Steve sighed.
"I knew it." Bucky clenched his fist. "I'm going to march right into his store and-"
"Bucky," Steve interrupted. "Drop it."
Turning to fully look Steve in the face, Bucky protested, "Steve, you can't let him treat you like that."
"Sticks and stones," Steve reminded, drawing the tub of butter from the fridge.
"I wouldn't mind breaking a few of his bones," Bucky grunted, dropping into one of the wobbly chairs at the table.
"That would make you no better than him," Steve reprimanded, spreading a generous helping of butter over one of the pieces of bread before handing the plate to Bucky.
"I don't like the thought of him talking to you like that," Bucky grumbled around a mouthful of his dinner, for which he received a stern glance from Steve. He sheepishly swallowed, appeasing his friend.
"Don't worry about me," Steve wiped his hands on his pants. "I can take care of myself."
"Oh yeah, that sounds familiar," Bucky mumbled, rolling his eyes fondly. Those words always preceded a busted lip and a nasty shiner. When Steve opened his mouth to defend himself, Bucky stood and slugged him on the upper arm. "I know, I know. You're a heavyweight champ."
"Get off me, you jerk," Steve ordered, the traces of a smile swinging on the edges of his lips.
"Yes, sir!" Bucky gave a sloppy faux salute.