I frikin love this chapter... I also got a little self-indulgent lol
Enjoy!
Disclaimer:
I do not own The First Avenger, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to their original makers. Everything to them. Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.
Chapter Three - Crying Through Lullabies
I jerk awake in the middle of the night to Bucky retching painfully off the side of the bed. He's gasping, wheezing, trying to suck in a breath in-between dry-heaves. Immediately, I'm off my chair and kneeling at his side. "It's okay, Buck, just breathe. It's okay."
Sweat pours from my friend's face like rain, dripping off his lips and eyelashes and nose and chin onto the grass below. His eyes are open, but glazed beyond recognition. The fog of illness has obscured his usually-periwinkle-blue gaze.
As I'm rubbing his back, up and down, up and down, I can feel the ridges of his spine jutting out of his back like thorns. I can feel his muscles seizing up and how his body ripples with every gag. My enhanced hearing picks up the gurgle of his stomach and I grab a bucket just in time before Bucky bends forward and vomits up a hot, thick mess of God knows what.
Bucky's hugging his stomach with one arm and holding my arm with the other. Tears mingle with the sweat on his cheeks and his body trembles violently. He whimpers, almost sounding like a whining, injured puppy at the mercy of its wounds.
As he continues to cough and retch, I notice some of the other patients starting to stir. Grumbling, they raise their heads, looking around to pinpoint the source of what had woken them. Mixed expression fill the tent as they realize the problem. A few of them glare at me, but I ignore them completely.
Bucky clutches at his chest, doubling over, as his body is racked with wet, rattling coughs.
One of the other soldiers nearby winces. "That doesn't sound good."
I'm about to respond when from Bucky's mouth spills a thick stream of reddish-black liquid. Blood.
"Oh, my God, Buck!" I spring from the chair and kneel beside him, taking his hand.
Bucky wheezes, his trembling hand tight around mine. His face is ghostly-white and whimpers escape his lips. His frail body shivers under my touch.
"It's okay, Bucky, just breathe." Tears form in my eyes. "J-just breathe, buddy."
His coughing slows, and his eyelids flutter. On the edge of his breath, I hear: "Stevie…?"
I smile through my own tears. "Yeah, I'm here. It's okay."
"I'mmnot…" Bucky leans in toward me and loses consciousness, going limp in my arms.
"B-Bucky!"
The medics flank me, prying Bucky from my arms and lifting him back onto the bed.
I shuffle out of the way, my eyes sore with fatigue.
When they pull away, Bucky looks even more terrifying– blood smears on his lips, an oxygen mask strapped to his face, his limbs hanging off the mattress like puppet arms… A blistering heat pumps from Bucky's skin like a physical cloud, indicating his unnaturally high fever. I kneel at his bedside and take his hand with both my mine, squeezing tight. I can feel his finger bones cutting into my palm, his blood thumping weakly through his veins, and I can spot the suture marks running down his wrist and up his arm and down his chest and even up to his neck and chin and jawline and almost every inch of his skin is covered in some kind of needle prick or dark bruise or patch of bloody gauze and his arms are littered with inflamed cuts and countless tiny track marks, proof of the hideous drugs pumped into him and my GOD I'm gonna snap the neck of every fucking HYDRA agent I can get my bare hands on because whoever the hell dared to treat my best friend like this is gonna fucking PAY with their damn lives–
Bucky moans in his sleep.
I glance at him. My gruesome thoughts of revenge disappear, but they leave in their wake an ocean of tears trapped inside. I lean over him, stroking the side of his face with one hand and using the other to hold his.
For a moment– just for a moment– Bucky drifts into consciousness. His hand closes around mine, his eyelids crack open, and his foggy eyes settle on me.
I give a sad smile. "Hey, Buck…"
He doesn't smile back. Instead, more tears slither down his cheeks. "S-Stevie…?"
"Yeah?"
"I-I wanna go home…"
His voice breaks at the same time as my heart. The tears build and build and build in my gaze until one blink sends waterfalls streaming down my cheeks. A sob burst from my chest and I drop my head. Another sneaks through gritted teeth. Finally, I surrender. I bury my face in my hands and cry. On and on and on and on until my voice is spent and my eyes are squeezed red and dry. And even then, I'm still choking out sobs.
I feel like I'm back at my parents' funerals again, crying myself dry at their gravestones long after the funeral had ended and everyone had left. At my dad's, the only one who'd saved me from falling asleep at the cemetery and dying of cold had been my mom. After I'd sobbed in her arms, she brought me home, set hot food in front of me, and invited Bucky to sleepover that night. I'd ended up crying in his arms too. Long into the night. He'd stayed with me, hugging me to his chest, rocking back and forth, and singing our favorite song like calming a child with a lullaby.
I hold Bucky's hand, and, softly, with tears still running silently down my cheeks, sing that same song: Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong's Autumn In New York.
"Autumn in New York
Why does it seem so inviting
Autumn in New York
It spells the thrill of first-nighting
Glittering crowds and shimmering clouds
In canyons of steel
They're making me feel - I'm home
It's autumn in New York
That brings the promise of new love
Autumn in New York
Is often mingled with pain
Dreamers with empty hands
They sigh for exotic lands
It's autumn in New York
It's good to live it again
Autumn in New York
The gleaming rooftops at sundown
Oh, Autumn in New York
It lifts you up when you run down
Yes, jaded rous and gay divorces
Who lunch at the Ritz
Will tell you that it's divine
This autumn in New York
Transforms the slums into Mayfair
Oh, Autumn in New York
You'll need no castles in Spain
Yes, Lovers that bless the dark
On the benches in Central Park
Greet autumn in New York
It's good to live it again
Autumn in New York
That brings the promise of new love
Autumn in New York
Is often mingled with pain
Dreamers with empty hands
They sigh for exotic lands
It's autumn in New York
It's good to live it again…"
Author's Notes:
3
BROTHERLY LOVE!
I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!
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