It's been a few days since Bucky returned from England. In summary, it was pretty traumatic. This was easily predictable based on the way he had been acting ever since he returned to Brooklyn.
Steve sat in their shared apartment, staring at the black and white flashes of images on the TV screen. Bucky had went out to grab some food and clothes, as that was something they were both running out of rather quickly. He also had to make sure Steve had enough of his medicine.
The weather had been horrendously ugly all day. It stormed, which didn't really help the panic attacks Steve sometimes got. It wasn't like he was terrified of the storms; they happened quite often actually, but it made him think bad things, which made him freak out. Especially when he was by himself, like he was now.
He took a quick peek out of the window. The dark, menacing clouds were rolling in rather quickly. It had just begun to pour down rain as well, which made Steve hope that Bucky would make it back alright, which he should.
Steve doesn't understand why he's been worrying so much, but after the nightmares he's been having for the past week, he's been on edge and pretty paranoid. Even the slightest noises can set him off, like the creaking of wooden floorboards.
He sighed, rubbing his hands over his pale face. Having just recovered from pneumonia, it wasn't surprising that he was exhausted and worn down.
It was about 4:30 PM right now. Bucky had said that he should be back around 5:00 if he wasn't delayed.
Though, as time went on, Steve grew increasingly worried. He took another peek at the time and realized it was now 5:15.
Time flies when you zone out.
Steve got to his feet and walked over to the door. He gripped the handle and opened it, being met with a wave of cold. It was still raining, but it had lessened to only slight sprinkles. The storm seemed to have calmed down as well. But Bucky was nowhere in sight.
Steve quickly grabbed a jacket and wrapped it around his thin frame before walking outside, shutting the door gently behind him. The steps creaked uncomfortably as he walked down them until he was met with solid ground. Once he made it to the sidewalk, he noticed how empty the neighborhood seemed to be. Though, he presumed it was because of the storms that had been growing increasingly common. Who would want to be out in this mess? Apparently Bucky.
As Steve made his way toward where Bucky should have been, he spotted a few souls out and about, but they were likely returning to their own homes.
Small puddles lined the edges of the sidewalk. It felt rather damp and humid outside, which Steve didn't really mind at the moment.
He could fit his hands inside the small pockets of the coat, which seemed a bit too large for his body. It reminded him of when him and Bucky always used to put on each other's clothes, Bucky always being surprised at how small Steve was.
"How do you fit in these? They're so small!"
"You try being as small and skinny as me, Buck."
Steve smiled to himself at the memory. It was rather enjoyable listening to each other rant about each other's clothing. Well, mainly Bucky. Steve understood that Bucky was just pretty tall, so it wouldn't really be surprising how the clothes fit him.
Still having no sight of Bucky, Steve decided to turn to drastic measures. He cupped his mouth with his hands. "Bucky!"
That sent him into a violent coughing fit, which took him a few moments to recover from. Unfortunately, his asthma prevented him from shouting as well. Along with his other many health issues.
"Bucky!" His voice was hoarse this time, and he coughed a little less violently. He passed a few dark alleys, one of which he was beat up in. Of course, he was pretty much beat up anywhere there were bullies. Or alleys, parking lots, and diners.
He snorted to himself at that thought.
Though, his worry for Bucky remained. He was growing more and more frantic as it got uncomfortably darker. It tended to get darker earlier now, at around 6:30.
When he checked the time again, it was 7. He's been searching for well over an hour.
He came upon a row of eerily, creepy buildings. It looked like they were abandoned, along with the entire street as well.
When was this here?
Steve definitely would have remembered if there was a creepy-looking street in his neighborhood. But one of the buildings drew his attention, and his gut seemed to be urging him to go investigate. It was a warehouse-type building, much larger than the others, which were more suited for homes or apartments.
Why the hell would Bucky be here? If he even is. Maybe my body is just trying to trick me, but still...something about this feels weird.
So, he reluctantly made his way into the warehouse. The door opened with an agitating screech. As soon as he entered, he felt a wave of extreme cold wash over him.
Gosh, this place is like a refrigerator..
Steve swallowed, hoping his asthma wouldn't act up, or he wouldn't get sick. The door shut softly behind him as he made his way further into the dimly-lit building.
He didn't yell or make any noise of sort, in fear that someone else was here and would want to harm him. Or just waiting for an opportunity.
A painfully weak groan came from his right. His head instantly spun in that direction and he swore his heart stopped for a moment. The sight that met him wasn't pleasant, and for a second he wish what he was seeing wasn't real.
Bucky was sat up against a container, unconscious. Bloodied cuts and bruises covered his face, and there was a puddle of blood forming next to him from a wound in his chest. The blood was seeping through his shirt.
Steve instantly sprinted over to him despite his lungs throbbing in protest.
"Bucky! O-Oh my god.." Steve felt tears already beginning to spill over. His hands were trembling horribly as he placed them on Bucky's wound. That earned a weak moan from his friend, which didn't help in decreasing the worry Steve was feeling.
"Wake up- Come on, wake up.." He pleaded.
Another groan. Bucky began to stir, his eyes sliding open slowly. Steve noticed instantly that they were glazed over.
They made eye-contact with each other. Bucky's eyes started to trace over Steve's body, likely making sure his friend wasn't injured. "Steve..?" He croaked.
Steve's heart clenched. Bucky sounded extremely weak, so none of them would be able to get out of here soon, because Steve definitely couldn't lift him. "B-Bucky..oh g-god, what happened?"
Bucky didn't answer. Instead, his gaze drifted downward to where Steve's hand was placed on his chest, blood seeping passed his fingers.
He lifted his own hand, which was trembling much worse than Steve's were, and laid it on top of his friend's, his breathing shallow. "Steve.." In a sudden wave of weakness, Bucky started sliding toward the ground.
Steve instantly removed his hand and tried desperately to get Bucky back up. It worked, at least for now.
"'m okay.." Bucky lied.
Steve shook his head rapidly. "No. No you are not okay," his voice was trembling as he took Bucky's cut up and bloodied hand in his own, feeling a weak squeeze almost instantly. Bucky's hand pretty much took over his own, since his were so small and bony.
Bucky groaned. His grip on his friend's hand didn't release, but his head drooped, blood trailing from his mouth.
Steve grew increasingly scared as he gently shook his friend's shoulder, earning him a weak glance.
"Don't die.." Steve muttered pitifully. He leaned his head against Bucky's shoulder.
"'m not g'ing anywhere, pal.." He gasped out, his words starting to slur.
Steve felt a shaky hand brush through his hair, but he felt Bucky shudder painfully and heard the slight thump as Bucky's hand hit the ground. Steve lifted his head, took one look at his seriously-injured friend, and began to cry, lowering his head and staring at the ground as tears slipped onto the concrete below them.
"Hey..Steve," Bucky whispered, cradling Steve's head against his chest and doing his best to soothe him. "'s okay..don't-" He swallowed harshly, then coughed, drawing in a sharp breath afterward.
That only fueled Steve's distress, and for a moment, Bucky was terrified that his friend would go into an asthma attack and he'd be too injured to do anything about it.
Black dots suddenly swarmed Bucky's vision. He knew that he was about to fall unconscious, so he wrapped his arms around Steve and pulled him closer, squeezing his eyes shut and resting his head on his shoulder.
Steve felt his friend's grip slacken, then release completely.
He pulled back, staring at his friend's unconscious face. The bleeding from the chest wound had subsided, mostly, which was a relief, but Steve was still scared.
"Bucky!" His voice cracked as he tried to shake his friend awake. "Bucky wake up!"
No response.
Steve broke down into sobs once again, wrapping his arms around Bucky and not letting go until the door suddenly swung open. When he turned to see who it was, he felt relief flood through his veins instantly.
A pair of police men hurried toward them. However, Steve continued to cling to Bucky, refusing to let go.
Eventually, he did. And now he was sitting by Bucky's bedside in a hospital.
He yawned, laying his head down on Bucky's chest, careful to stay away from the injury-sight. The next thing he knew, he dosed off, because when he awoke, he felt a hand on his head.
Steve blinked and noticed Bucky smiling weakly at him.
He threw his head up and grinned. "Bucky!"
"Hey, punk.." Bucky laughed.
Steve went serious pretty quickly. "After you're better, you better tell me what happened. You scared me half to death- I-I thought you were gonna-" He found it harder to breathe and soon Bucky was sitting upright, grabbing Steve's hand and laying it on his chest. "Breathe, Stevie. Breathe, it's okay."
Steve swallowed as he felt Bucky's steady heartbeat under his hand. It relieved him, and he calmed down pretty quickly. "Sorry.."
Bucky smiled. "It's okay, pal."
He placed a hand on Steve's shoulder and pulled him into a hug.
"I don't want anything to happen to you.." Steve muttered.
Bucky rubbed circles on his friend's back. "Nothin's gonna happen to me. I promise."
