Steve slowly opened his eyes. He squinted over to the clock, which read 5:00 AM.
He slowly sat up on the couch, rubbing his tired eyes. A note was left on the coffee table that sat just a few feet from the couch. Steve reached over, ignoring the pain in his exposed ribs and the sudden headache he received. He tended to get those a lot, saying how easily he got sick.
Ran to grab some things, be back around 5:30.
Stay safe punk, Bucky.
Steve smiled. Of course Bucky would be gone this early in the morning. It would be a bit better, Steve guessed, since people tended to be up and about by about 6 or 7.
Brooklyn seemed dark these days. Storms were constantly brewing, quite literally, and he's heart about multiple break-ins around the area. Bucky was always reluctant on leaving Steve by himself, afraid that the same thing would happen to them, but he always insisted he'd be fine. Which was true, in a way.
Unfortunately, due to how weak he was from his small size, he was incapable of defending himself properly.
He sighed and laid back down on the couch, yawning once again.
When he woke up from his apparent nap, which didn't last very long, he noticed someone standing over him.
His eyes widened as he shot up, realizing quite quickly that it wasn't Bucky. Though, he should be back too, as it was now 5:28.
The figure had a strange beard, his eyes dark and menacing. It scared him.
He swallowed, feeling himself shake. "W-Who are you?" Acting tough failed miserably. His walls all dropped when he noticed the man was holding a gun.
The man didn't answer, but instead simply pulled the trigger and ran. As Steve tumbled to the floor, bleeding horribly from the wound in his side, he heard a few shouts from outside, one which he recognized as Bucky's.
Soon, the shouting stopped, and Bucky ran through the door, nearly collapsing to the floor at the sight.
"STEVE!"
Steve felt Bucky pull him into his lap, hand instantly flying onto Steve's wound. He let out a pained yelp, tears flowing freely down his face as choked-out sobs escaped.
"Oh god- Stay with me, pal..It's okay," Bucky kept one hand pressuring the wound, while the other held Steve against his chest.
"B-Buck-" Steve gasped, his hands grasping at the air. "A-Am I g-gonna- I don't want to d-" Bucky grabbed his hands before he could finish.
"You are not going to die, Steve. I won't let you," Bucky said.
Steve swallowed and let out a pitiful, "I'm scared," while his lips trembled and he let out stuttered breaths. Breathing soon became extremely difficult.
"Shh," Bucky soothed. He gently removed his bloodied hand from the wound, which had seemed to stop bleeding at least temporarily. He was still able to see more blood ready to spill over.
Steve buried his head in his best friend's chest. His breathing was shallow, as unfortunately, asthma took over, and Steve began gasping and making horrible choking-noises he wasn't making before. Bucky instantly bolted Steve upright, rubbing his back and attempting, desperately, to calm him down.
"Steve! Steve, it's okay.." Bucky rested his head on Steve's shoulder, before he stood up with Steve, who had begun to convulse, in his arms. "Hang in there, Steve.." He swallowed hard, and allowed a sob he was holding in for almost the entire time break loose. "Please..I can't lose you."
He ran out the door.
2 weeks later.
Bucky ran a hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. When he opened them, Steve's glassy blue eyes stared back at him. Barely opened, but there.
"Steve!" He sighed in relief and gave his friend a gentle squeeze.
"Hey Buckā¦" Steve rasped, giving a weak smile.
Bucky returned the smile, rubbing his friend's arm comfortingly. "How are you feeling?" His expression went to concern pretty quickly.
Steve mumbled something inaudible. "hurts.."
"Not surprising," Bucky sighed. "You went through hell. I'm sorry I wasn't there.."
Steve grinned. "It's okay."
Of course, it's always okay. Almost always, anyway.
