Last chapter, here we go!
Chapter 6: Red Card
By Christmas he'd lost the stubble left on his head after Steve's shave job, his eyebrows, and fifteen pounds. His current regimen entailed chemo in two week cycles. Depending on the severity of the side effects, whether he needed blood transfusions, and a host of other factors he didn't even pretend to understand, he stayed at Gravesen anywhere from three to ten days during chemo then got to go home until his immune system recovered enough for the next dose. Though he hadn't done the exact math, he felt like he spent way more time in the hospital than out of it.
It had barely been a month and a half and he was already exhausted. He missed his friends, he missed soccer, he even missed going to school. His parents hired a tutor to ensure he kept up with his schoolwork from home and he attended Gravesen's school when he was feeling up to it—which was not often. When he sat in that classroom with no company except for Carol and the Ancient One he found it impossible to pay attention. If they'd been quizzed on the information taught in class he would have failed every single time. Information just didn't stick in his brain the way it used to, another side effect of chemotherapy. In patients younger than him some of the medications could cause permanent learning disabilities.
In the grand scheme of things he saw no value in Gravesen school, so he stopped going. His last day in the hospital after round three of chemo he easily could have gone, but he decided to binge watch a show on Netflix instead. Between starting high school and his soccer practice schedule he hadn't had time to watch the new season of Riverdale when it first came out. Now was as good a time as any to catch up, so he watched episode after episode, only fleetingly noticing when the clock indicated he should be heading to the classroom.
The next day, just before he was discharged, his mother brought up the memory issues to Dr. Potts. She definitely overplayed their severity, but Bucky didn't correct her. Dr. Potts brought up the possibility of stopping one of his drugs to lessen the effects, but after a thorough discussion they decided it wasn't worth the increased risk of relapse. Bucky found the whole incident mildly hilarious and relayed it to Steve over FaceTime as soon as he got home.
"You watched Riverdale instead of going to school?" Steve confirmed.
"Yeah."
"Can't say I blame you. I just hope you won't have to repeat ninth grade since you're missing most of it."
"I'm keeping up. I'm just as diligent with doing my tutor's homework as I am about taking my meds, I promise."
"Okay. But don't overwork yourself."
"I won't," Bucky promised.
He spent the entire week leading up to Christmas worrying that he'd spike a fever or something and be forced to spend it in the hospital, but luck was on his side. He left Gravesen after round three on December twenty first and managed to stay out. They'd started putting him on appetite stimulants between rounds to try and keep his weight up, so he actually managed a reasonable Christmas Eve dinner, much to his mother's joy. They watched Home Alone, Bucky's favorite Christmas movie since he was a little kid, and he enjoyed a rare day of feeling less terrible than usual.
On Christmas morning his father made waffles. Bucky watched him whisking batter while sucking idly on a candy cane from his stocking. He wore his fuzzy white wolf socks from his friends' care package and new warm pajama pants. To top it off, he covered his bare head with a snowman beanie. With Christmas music playing softly in the background, the three of them opened gifts.
Bucky and Steve had worked together on what to get for their parents. They ultimately came up with the idea to get them journals, complete with personalized cover art, since both of their families were fond of tangible relics of family history and whatnot. Bucky's mom had an entire drawer full of just scrapbooks. Steve did most of the work on the art portion, but Bucky made sure to incorporate at least some of his own hand.
When she opened it, Bucky made her promise not to use it to keep track of his oncologist appointments or anything like that. "Of course not," she replied. "I'll use it to write about important things going on in our lives. For example, I'm going to write a detailed description of your reaction when we give you your present."
"Oh really? Now I'm excited." Bucky tore open the box she handed to him and pulled out a tee shirt. He didn't understand the hype until he flipped it around and read the front: It cost an arm and a leg, but I was able to negotiate. Bucky stared at it, dumbfounded, before he burst out laughing.
"We thought it would be rather funny, afterwards," his father explained.
"I think so too."
"But that's not all," his mom stated, barely concealing her obvious excitement.
"There's more?"
"Yes. You see, we recently got a phone call," his father explained.
"From?" Bucky asked.
"The Make-a-Wish Foundation," they told him. Bucky's jaw dropped. His whole life, that organization had been something entirely separate, the magical group that allowed little kids with grave illnesses to meet their idols or have the vacation of a lifetime. Though he was obviously excited, it saddened him to recognize that he qualified as sick enough to deserve their attention.
"That's…that's incredible," he stammered.
"Start thinking about how you want to spend your Wish. When you finish treatment we can do whatever you want."
"Wow. I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything," his mother encouraged. "I know this is kind of bittersweet, but at least you'll have something to look forward to, right?"
"Yeah. I just have no idea what I want to do."
"That's okay. You've got time. Once they promise you a Wish they can't give it away to someone else who has their mind made up," his dad explained. None of them mentioned the uncertainty surrounding this Christmas gift. "When he finished treatment" was about as specific as "When the world ends." They had no way of knowing when it would be or if it would happen at all. Scans showed his tumor was responding to the treatment, but Ewing's was unpredictable. There was always a chance he'd never get to spend his Wish. But he tried not to think about that possibility, instead focusing on the multitude of possibilities for how he could spend it.
He called Steve after they'd cleaned up all the wrapping paper and told him everything. "You get a Wish? That's awesome!"
"Yeah, it kinda is. I'm honestly still shocked."
"Do you have any idea what you want to do?"
"Not yet, but I'm sure I'll be thinking about it nonstop for the next six months."
"I'm not going to demand you bring me along, but you do have to tell me all about it when it happens."
"Of course! Anyway, how was your Christmas?"
"Pretty typical. I got some really nice colored pencils. Did you watch Home Alone?"
"Is Mrs. McAllister a terrible mother?"
"I'll take that as a yes."
"I'm assuming It's a Wonderful Life was on at your place?"
"You assume correctly."
"You guys really love that movie, huh?"
"It's a classic."
"It's old."
"That's part of the definition of classic."
"Whatever."
"I gotta go, my mom's calling me to help her bake cookies," Steve said.
"I might have to stop by and steal some."
"That's the appetite stimulants talking."
"Whoever it is, they're talking loud."
"You're crazy. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas."
~0~
He had a date to count down to now: March twenty sixth. Unless something veered drastically in another direction, that was the date that surgeons would free him of the majority of his tumor and the entirety of his left arm. In some twisted way, he was looking forward to it. Once it was over he could stop dreading it. The waiting and wondering about the afterwards tortured him in a way completely different than any of the physical pain.
But the worst agony of all, dwarfing any caused by his tumor or chemo, wouldn't arrive until February.
January elapsed, introducing two new patients to the ward. First came Thor, who Bucky didn't get to know until nearly three weeks after his arrival because he could barely stop seizing long enough to get out of bed. Not long after, a leukemia patient moved in down the hall, but the infection risk was so high for the first month that they weren't allowed to see her. Bucky pitied the poor kid, having to face cancer without meeting the others here who fought it alongside her. He didn't know if he could have made it as far as he had without the support of Steve and Carol.
The most momentous thing to happen in January was Peter's first words. The kid didn't speak for his first two months here, but he still spent time with them and listened intently to the conversations that did occur. Bucky didn't witness the seemingly miraculous event, but Carol told him all about it—somewhat smugly, if he was honest. He didn't much care what got the kid to start talking, but he knew that Dr. Wilson and Dr. van Dyne could really help him now that he was willing to communicate.
January turned to February, heralding the return of young Clint. Steve and Clint went way back, both having spent almost their entire lives in and out of Gravesen. Another returner for cancer treatment: Nick, fresh out of remission and "really fucking pissed" at the world for giving him cancer again. He scared the hell out of Bucky at first, the eyepatch only adding to his ability to intimidate. But then he had a sobbing breakdown in the armchair across from Bucky during chemo, and Bucky recognized that Nick wasn't scary but just scared.
Bucky got a new next-door neighbor, Bruce, who they figured out was here following a suicide attempt. The kid was a bit older than Bucky and almost as quiet as Peter when he first arrived. Once he recovered physically from whatever he'd done to himself he began keeping a tight schedule, going about his day as if on autopilot. Every time Bucky tried to speak to him he appeared completely lost in his own head, but Bucky could tell he was ever so slowly returning to the world as Dr. Wilson adjusted his medication doses.
Last to join the party was Peter, scarcely recovered from brain surgery at his home hospital in Missouri and here for radiation, oral chemo, and observation for a particularly aggressive tumor. He quickly became Quill to avoid confusion, while the first Peter became Parker. Quill quickly bonded with Thor, being the only other patient to ever have experienced a seizure. With so many new friends around, things were livening up…until one plucked Jenga block sent the entire tower tumbling.
"I'm afraid things aren't looking good for me," Carol sent to the Gravesen group chat just seven days before it happened. The last time Bucky saw her she'd seemed fine, making fun of his inability to remember all the rules of Catan while they played with Clint and the new leukemia patient, Natasha, who'd finally been released to mingle with the other kids on the ward. It was her first game ever and she picked it up faster than Bucky despite barely knowing English.
Bucky didn't fully understand the gravity of her statement until he FaceTimed Steve later that evening and saw the grim look on his face. He'd seen the same message, Bucky knew, but he could tell Carol had told him more.
"There's nothing they can do," Steve whispered.
"I'm sorry." Bucky didn't know what else he could say. He tried to imagine how he would feel if Steve gave him that kind of news, but halted that train of thought immediately because it was too horrible to even contemplate.
"Un—unless there's a donor in the next few days…" he trailed off, unable to say the condemning words.
"There's a chance that might happen." His voice lacked the sense of optimism he'd tried to infuse into it. Both Bucky and Steve understood the unlikelihood of that eventuality. Without any idea what else to do, he asked, "Is there anything I can do, Steve?"
He only shook his head and cried.
~0~
Bucky visited her two days after the message. She wasn't exaggerating when she said things weren't looking good. He would try and fail for weeks afterward to wipe the image of her in this state from his brain. It burned itself into his memory as permanently as the first time he'd witnessed one of Steve's severe asthma attacks. "What gives?" he asked her, recalling their first interaction as fellow patients. "Did you land yourself in here just to hog all the attention? Isn't that taking things a little too far?"
Carol chuckled, but it quickly turned into a hacking cough that had Bucky's hand poised over her call button before she waved him away, insisting she was fine. "Not sure even I could pull off an act like that."
"Alright." He sat down and tried not to focus on the sickly color of her skin.
"Bucky." Her tone indicated she had something very important to say.
"Carol."
"Steve's gonna take it hard."
"Hey, we don't know what's going to happen. There's always a chance—"
"No," she said with a sad smile. Bucky closed his mouth and cast his eyes downward, knowing the odds were far too slim to hope they'd turn in Carol's favor. "Steve's gonna take it hard, and I need you to tell me you'll take care of him."
"Of course I will," Bucky choked out.
"Good. And you'd better fight this cancer shit with everything you have, okay? Because Bucky, I will not entertain the thought of Steve someday losing you too."
"You know I can't promise anything." He had no way of knowing what is future would hold, especially when it came to Ewing's.
"I know," she sighed. "But try your best?"
"I'll try my best," he vowed.
~0~
It happened on February twenty ninth. A too-short life ended on the last day of a too-short month. A month which also happened to be American Heart Month, which was a cruel irony in Bucky's opinion. He did his best to be there for an inconsolable Steve, but as he'd been warned, there was nothing he could do for him beyond surreptitiously turn up the flow rate on his oxygen when the force of his sobbing made him short of breath.
Bucky cried his fair share of tears as well, partly for Carol and partly for Steve. He recalled how much Steve had struggled after little Scott passed away all those years ago and knew this experience would be worse. Gravesen had always been a second home for Steve, and Carol became a crucial part of that family. She transformed it from a terrifying castle of sterility into a welcoming house of camaraderie. The gauntlet, a physical representation of her influence, stood proudly in the common room, adorned with the names of all the fighters who had joined them since its creation.
"Steve, there's something we need to do," Bucky told him. He quickly fired off a text to the group chat, inviting anyone else who was able to join them in this venture.
"What?"
Bucky took him by the hand and guided him to the common room. Parker, Natasha, Clint, Nick, and Thor filtered in, all in various states of despair. They all knew Steve; despite not currently being admitted, he visited Bucky and Carol often enough that he'd gotten to know all the residents. Everyone looked to Bucky, wordlessly asking why he'd summoned them here.
He cleared his throat, unsure how to suggest what he had in mind. "Carol devised this gauntlet to mark our standing against Thanatos," he decided to say. "It shows us both what we maintain, and what we stand to regain. But it must also reflect what we've lost—who we've lost."
The group nodded assent, and Bucky nudged Steve towards the poster. He reached up and ripped the mind X from Carol's self column and handed it over to Thanatos. Then, more slowly, did the same for her soul. Bucky felt a physical weight lift off his shoulders and noticed Steve appear ever so slightly less deadened by grief. It was a small thing, to be able to honor her fight like this, but Bucky knew even a small relief from the ache was worth the effort.
It wasn't enough to save Steve. His grief proved too immense to be diminished into a bearable state by Bucky's efforts or anyone else's. Bucky heard his breathing at the funeral and could tell he'd been neglecting his treatments, but he couldn't bring himself to confront him about it. A week after Carol's passing, they both got admitted to Gravesen again, Bucky for another round of chemo and Steve for a chest infection that took hold and spread rapidly without his medications or breathing treatments to hold it off. By that point, his respiratory system was so clogged up that Dr. Erskine wanted him doing his vest four times a day instead of two.
Steve was miserable. Bucky sat with him for some of the sessions, and a few times he got to coughing so violently that he vomited. Despite this, it was clear that the extra therapy was helping clear him out. After just a few days Bucky noticed improvement. His fifteenth birthday arrived, though nobody felt much like celebrating—least of all Bucky. He did, however, receive a gift of sorts from Steve. It was a drawing he said he completed weeks ago, depicting a future Bucky with his pre-cancer hair, both arms, and the tasteful stubble he used to joke about growing. They looked at it for a minute, laughed, and then cried together for half an hour.
Four days later, Steve burst into his room just as he was about to join Nat, Quill, and Thor for a round of Catan, eyes shining with tears waiting for the slightest additional provocation to start tumbling down his cheeks again. "Bucky, they're moving a new kid into Carol's old room. It's only been two weeks…it's too soon! I'm not ready!"
"Hey, shhh," Bucky cajoled. "Calm down, it's going to be okay." He glanced across the hall at room 1219 and observed the hustle and bustle indicative of a new patient. "This is just another new kid. They are not replacing Carol, and they certainly do not need to see their future hallmates freaking out about what room they got assigned."
"I—I just don't want it to stop being her room."
"I know. But it couldn't stay empty forever. A new kid moving in does not erase Carol, okay? That's why we have the gauntlet."
"Yeah, okay."
"There's only one thing this new kid needs that the hospital isn't already providing for them. It's something only you can give."
"What?"
Bucky had spent the last thirty seconds intensely debating with himself whether this comment would do more harm than good, but he decided to go through with it and deal with the repercussions either way. "The ol' Rogers Razzle Dazzle." Steve cracked up—thankfully. "You need to go over there and make this kid feel at home the way you always do, got it?"
"Got it."
Bucky joined up with his friends for Catan while Steve set off for the newbie's room. He played one of the worst games of his career because he was preoccupied with worrying about Steve and his handling of the newcomer. Bucky feared something would happen that set Steve off, scaring the hell out of the new kid, but when the two of them arrived in the common room as part of the tour his worries evaporated. This was the Gravesen Steve he knew, filled with an easy confidence and ability to take charge. As Bucky explained the current standings of the game, he smiled. Nobody else noticed it through his face mask, but he didn't need anyone but Steve to see.
Tony Stark turned out to be just what Steve needed—what they all needed.
It's so strange to write the same scene from so many different perspectives. We've seen this exact moment from Tony's, Natasha's, Thor's, and Bucky's now. This prequel I actually finished writing second, followed by Steve's, which is where we're headed next. The Thorns of Sixty Five Roses might be my personal favorite of all the prequels, not just because I'm insanely proud of that title. It's a much more substantial story than any of the others, but it contains so many moments that I had a great time writing. I can't wait to share it with you all :)