Chapter 40: When June Comes
Lassitude clung to his bones, and everything his five senses registered came in muted, as if through a thick layer of fog. The edges of the BiPAP mask pressing into his face, the smell of hospital and his own salty fever sweat, the beeping of monitors, the harsh fluorescent lights above his head, the strange aftertaste of the meds flowing through his central line. Only two things penetrated that muffling layer: the sparkling pain of his cough as it ripped through his chest, and the sound of Bucky's voice.
The terror didn't have to penetrate it, though, because it already resided deep inside him. Steve knew he could die from this, and rather easily. He might never leave this hospital, never meet Carol May, never spend another night in his bed at home with Bucky. The thought made him want to sob, but he knew tears would only worsen the hardening cement of congestion sitting heavy in his chest. That, and he didn't want Bucky and his parents to know his fear. If he showed them only his strength, maybe they would be less afraid.
He wasn't going down without a fight, that much was for certain. Steve had defied the odds before, and that was without such a strong incentive as meeting Parker's daughter. Nothing, not even pneumonia, could stop him from meeting that little girl. At least, that's how he chose to think about it…most of the time. The terror prevented him from consistently maintaining that mindset, but he tried his best.
Mom and Dad came back from their trip to the house with some basic necessities for them both, and Carol's American flag blanket. He was too flushed with fever to actually keep it on, but he laid it on the bed beside him and kept a corner of it tangled in his fist so he could feel it was there. Carol helped him beat Death the first time; Steve had faith she could do it again, especially when meeting her namesake was at stake. The longer he'd had to think about it, the more confident he grew that it had been her, in some form or another, that helped him in that dream fight against the formidable purple figure all those years ago.
The doctors wanted him on respiratory therapy twice a day, which should've been nothing for him. For the majority of his life, Steve did two sessions every day, four when he was sick. But he didn't think he'd ever been this sick before. The first one exhausted him beyond anything he'd ever experienced, and he was genuinely afraid he would stop breathing from the sheer lack of energy. BiPAP helped him not do that. When it came time for his second session, he couldn't stop the whimper that escaped his abused throat.
Still, he knew it could only help, so he let the therapist listen to his lungs and position him to drain the worst parts first. But, when Sean removed his BiPAP mask and replaced it with the nebulizer for Albuterol, Steve took advantage of his renewed ability to speak and requested simply, "Bucky."
"You want your husband to do it?" Sean confirmed.
Steve nodded meekly. Bucky's hand was gentler yet somehow just as effective. Most importantly, it was familiar. He breathed in the meds as Bucky percussed his back and chest, pausing periodically as a wet, rattling cough tore through him. It had taken a while to get used to the dryness of his BOS cough after so many years of CF filling him with an endless supply of sputum, so this actually felt more familiar. Just like the good ol' days Steve thought wryly.
He clutched a basin to spit in with one hand, the blanket in another, and tried his best to keep breathing through each round of percussion. By the back half, he was too tired to be of any help at all with changing position, so he let Sean and Bucky maneuver him and focused his meager remaining energy stores to huff cough to try and bring more junk up. It worked, and he could breathe noticeably easier for the thirty minutes following the treatment. However, if the first treatment was any indication, he'd be right back where he started within an hour or so as the bacteria continued to ravage his lungs and his body fought futilely to keep it at bay. So, he wanted to take advantage of these moments of minimal congestion.
"Can I take a walk?" he asked the first nurse to check on him after the treatment. After his transplant, they'd wanted him up and moving as soon and as often as possible to prevent blood clots, and he knew he was probably one half a day in bed away from developing one.
She looked at him disdainfully. "Why don't we shoot for getting to that chair," she pointed to the one beside Bucky, "And sitting up there for a bit?"
"Okay," he relented. He'd had enough recovery time after the breathing treatment that he no longer felt completely flattened, but he still had doubts about making it there under his own power. Then he remembered that he'd had doubts about being able to stand up with six chest tubes in him and a recently-stapled clamshell incision, but he'd done that anyway. He could do this too.
His balance was fine, but exhaustion threatened to pull him down to the floor and he ended up leaning most of his weight on the nurse and Bucky with every step. Despite that, he made it, and it felt amazing to stretch his legs. This was part of not going down without a fight.
"You're incredible," Bucky told him after the nurse left them with instructions to push the call button when he needed help transferring back.
Steve only shrugged. He lasted fifteen minutes before being upright combined with all the intense antibiotics began to make him nauseous and dizzy. Bucky pressed the call button for him. The transfer back was significantly worse because he'd drained so much of his energy reserves. By the time he settled into bed, he felt close to passing out. Steve didn't even know if he did exactly that or just fell asleep, but either way, he slipped into unconsciousness within a few minutes.
~0~
Bucky finished off Steve's second treatment of the day and rolled his wrist out to soothe the soreness growing. He really wasn't used to using it like that, but at this rate he would within the next two weeks. The doctors had said this course of antibiotics would take that long, and they'd continuously reevaluate throughout that interval to see if anything needed to be adjusted. Steve managed to sit up in a chair for fifteen minutes, though getting there was almost as much of an ordeal as it had been when he was fresh out of transplant. Still, Bucky was astonished at the strength displayed in such a seemingly simple act. When he'd been laid up with a fever and no immune system back during cancer treatment, he only moved when absolutely necessary. Once he moved back to bed, Steve fell asleep almost instantly.
Tony texted to ask how things were going.
"Holding steady," Bucky replied.
"Is there a prognosis?"
"I don't know."
"Okay. Would it be okay if I came up to visit?"
"Yeah, of course." Bucky would love a distraction right about now. Steve's parents—who had since yesterday moved into their upstairs bedroom for the time being so they could commute more easily—were great, but they tended to get tunnel vision when Steve was sick. They weren't so much a distraction as they were a reflection of the situation at hand.
"I can come tomorrow morning."
"Okay."
Bucky was already looking forward to it. By that evening, Steve reported that it was getting harder and more painful to breathe, even with BiPAP assisting. Bucky braced himself for a ventilator discussion and his breaths turned panicky. Instead, they took another chest x-ray which showed that his lungs weren't fully inflating; the lining had grown so inflamed with fluid that it restricted them. Pleurisy, the doctors called it, a common comorbidity of pneumonia. Bucky's stomach contracted and leapt into his throat because this sounded like nothing more than he's getting worse, but then they said they could treat it with relative ease. His muscles unclenched a bit after hearing that.
They sat Steve up and had him rest his arms on a table positioned in front of him. Bucky stood at the foot so Steve could see him—and so he couldn't see what they were doing to his back. In retrospect, he should have been even more careful, because he still saw the needle before they inserted it between his ribs. They connected a tube to the needle, and Bucky didn't dare watch as fluid drained out. Steve shot him a look that, even through the oxygen mask, Bucky could tell meant, "Wimp."
Once the drainage slowed to a drip, they removed the needle and bandaged him up. Steve took a deep breath and actually smiled, meaning it must've helped immensely. They took another chest x-ray just to be sure, and were satisfied with the results. Bucky watched as Steve's eyelids began to flutter and he fell back asleep, his breaths coming more easily than before.
That night into the next morning went as well as he could've hoped. He was told to avoid hitting him over the thoracentesis site during therapy that morning, and after the treatment Steve said between that and the relieved pressure from yesterday, he felt the best he ever had since entering the hospital. His fever was still elevated, hovering between 101.7 and 102.5, but his chest x-rays looked slightly improved. He felt well enough to switch to an oxygen cannula so he could talk to Tony when he arrived.
"Thanks for coming," were the first words out of his mouth.
"Steve, you don't have to thank me," Tony said sincerely. "I came because I want to be here."
"Still nice of you."
"How're you feeling?"
Steve rolled his eyes. "Pneumonic."
Tony chuckled. "If you'd said pneumatic, I might've been able to help you."
Steve laughed too, though it turned into a hacking cough. Bucky saw Tony's shoulders shiver in sympathy.
"They make…VADs for lungs?" Steve asked. Bucky couldn't even tell if it was a serious question or not.
"Not that I know of. The Iron Lung sounds like it might be, but from what I know it's something a lot more invasive."
Steve shuddered. "Yeah." He coughed again, though the tail end of this fit turned into a yawn. Tony recognized that keeping him talking probably wasn't in his best interest, so he asked if Steve wanted to hear about the progress on his project. Steve nodded blearily and shifted to a more comfortable position. He closed his eyes as Tony began explaining the last steps in the process before the first trial run of his device could be conducted. Bucky found himself dozing too, until he heard the phrase, "At this rate, I can probably get mine in early June and officially be the first test subject."
Early June. Exactly when Carol May was due. When Steve, if he lived to see it, would probably stop fighting quite so hard to stay in this world. Tony was talking about having open heart surgery during what was about to be the most stressful and emotionally-charged month of Parker's life. Bucky bit down on the inside of his cheek. Surely, Tony had considered this and saw no way around it. A VAD had a definite lifespan, and Tony was reaching the very tail end of his; it would have to be replaced at some point. Maybe he'd reached a point where if he didn't, his health would start to suffer, and that would present an even worse situation for everyone involved. Bucky took a deep breath and decided not to worry about it until June came.
By the time he refocused on the scene before him, Steve had fallen asleep. "Want to take a walk?" Tony asked. "You look like you could use some air."
"Yeah, sure." Bucky led him to the courtyard where he'd had his emotional breakdown mere days ago. In fact, he was pretty sure he saw the same bird who'd been there that day. It was the same species, at least. They walked around the perimeter, listening to the burble of the fountain and taking in the fresh air.
"Bruce sends his best, by the way," Tony said. "He wanted to come with me, but with Betty on bed rest, he doesn't have any time to spare."
"Betty's on bed rest? Is everything okay?" Bucky asked. He didn't think there was even room for concern for anyone but Steve right now, but hearing that news set his heart racing anew.
All the color instantly drained from Tony's face. "Shit."
"Tony? Is she okay?"
"Yeah, she's gonna be fine. Shit, shit, shit," he continued, which didn't sound particularly fine to Bucky. Another medical crisis was more than he could handle at the moment, and Tony refusing to disclose details only made his fears worse.
"Tony, what's going on?"
"She's pregnant, okay?" he confessed. "She's pregnant, and Bruce didn't tell you guys, and now I've ruined it. Goddammit, Tony."
Bucky took offense to being left out of the loop like this. Parker and MJ's news had excited him and Steve more than anything they'd ever heard before, and Bruce had denied them a repeat of that incredible experience. "Why?"
Tony stopped walking and massaged his temples. "The kid's not due until weeks after Parker's," he explained, "And Bruce didn't want…he didn't want Steve to try and hold on even longer, or to feel guilty if he couldn't make it. So he didn't tell you guys, and he asked us not to either, but now I've gone and ruined that."
Bucky's stomach churned. If Steve knew this…it might consume him. He'd already run himself ragged fighting to meet Carol May, and Bucky didn't want to see what he might do to himself if he knew there was another child of their friend coming so soon after. If he couldn't hold on that long, he'd die worried that Bruce felt less valued than Parker, Bucky just knew it. Bruce would never hold that against him—nobody would—but Bucky knew Steve wouldn't see it that way. It was probably better if he never found out about it.
But then again, what if he did live that long? And he found out that Bruce had been keeping his wife's pregnancy from him? That would hurt just as much. Bucky didn't know what to do.
"Bucky, please don't tell Bruce I dropped the ball," Tony begged. "I'm not used to keeping secrets from any of you guys."
"Yeah, I don't suppose you've had much practice with that. Although you did keep Steve's bachelor party a secret," Bucky pointed out.
"True, true. But this is way more important."
"Yeah, it is."
"So, now that you know…are you gonna tell him?"
Bucky sighed. "I don't know. I have never been confronted with more impossible situations than in the past year."
"I can imagine. I'm so sorry I just put this on you; I didn't mean it."
"I know you didn't. It's not your fault. I think…I don't think I'm gonna tell him," he decided. This was Bruce's news to share, not his, and he didn't want it to go to Steve. Bucky found out by accident, he couldn't fix that, but he could do his best to respect Bruce and Betty's wishes.
"Okay."
They resumed walking. Bucky couldn't think of anything to say, and Tony took a long time to work himself back up to start a conversation. "How are you doing?" he asked. "Seriously, I don't want any of that tough guy bullshit. This is the hardest thing in the world, and if you need to cry, or vent, or just talk, or anything, I'm here."
"Thanks Tony." In all honesty, Bucky hadn't had the time to spare to solidify his thoughts and emotions into something he could communicate. He was taking it minute by minute and relying on Steve to set the pace and the tone. "I don't even know what's going on with me, to be honest. I'm exhausted, and afraid, but also weirdly not? I'm not really religious, but I just have this gut feeling that nothing's going to happen that isn't supposed to, if that makes any sense. Steve almost died when we were teenagers, but he didn't, and that led to all this. But if it's his time now, there's nothing I can do to stop that," he concluded with a shrug.
Tony nodded solemnly. "That's probably the best perspective you could possibly have on the situation. I'm certainly not there yet."
"How are you doing?" Bucky turned the question back on him. He might be Steve's husband, but that didn't mean he was the only one invested in the situation, or even the one most invested. Steve touched so many lives, and his death would rip a gaping hole in all of them.
"I'm terrified. Clint's was the first major death I ever experienced, and it gutted me. And his was more sudden. We've known about Steve for years now, and I don't even know if that makes it better or worse, all that anticipation. There's this huge thing coming, and we know it's happening, but we don't know when, and every day I wake up sick to my stomach wondering if it's going to be today."
Bucky nodded along. "I understand how you feel."
"At the same time, I feel horrible saying that to you, because your life is about to change far more drastically than mine is."
"Tony, no!" Bucky scolded. "My pain does not diminish yours, no matter what. I know there are people missing both arms, or both arms and both legs, but that didn't make my amputation hurt any less."
"You make a good analogy."
"Thank you. Listen, there are a whole lot of people about to be impacted by this…whenever it happens, and all we're going to have in the aftermath is each other. Comparing griefs is no way to cope with tragedy."
"You're right. Thank you."
Bucky wasn't used to being the wise one. But, experience brokers wisdom, and he'd experienced more in his twenty-seven years than many people did in ninety. He didn't want to spend the aftermath of his husband's death with all his friends pitying him, thinking their loss could never compare; he wanted them to all hold each other up and carry each other through. "I won't be alone," he'd promised Steve, and Bucky had never broken a promise to Steve.
