I've always known what I was going to do with this one. This honestly could have also been used for the 'Exhaustion' prompt back in Chapter 19, but I felt that this scene fit this prompt better.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Marvel Cinematic Universe or any of the characters contained therein.
WORD COUNT: 1540
Bucky fumbled and dropped the keys when he went to unlock the door. Grimacing, he shifted his grocery bag so that he could carry it in one arm and stooped down to pick them up. Black spots appeared on the edge of his vision, and he blinked them away. He was so damn tired, but he couldn't afford to sleep right now. He had too much to do.
His whole body ached. The bruises from last night's fight in the ring were really giving him trouble, now. It would have been easier to bear if he'd won, but he'd been tired then, too, and off his game. His opponent had walked away with the win and the prize money. Money that Bucky had needed. So he'd picked up an extra shift lugging around boxes and such down at the docks today. He'd been reluctant to be away from the apartment for so long, but old Mrs. Willis across the hall promised she'd take care of things until he got back.
He shuffled his way in, dropping the grocery bag on the first flat surface he reached, and made his way to the bedroom. The place was cold, and he gulped. The heating was out, again. And night hadn't even fallen, yet, so it was bound to get colder after the sun set.
Tonight was going to be yet another long night. Bucky hated winter.
Old Mrs. Willis was in the bedroom, sitting next to the bed and holding a bowl of watery soup while Steve shakily fed himself with a spoon. His pale complexion was made even paler by the bout of pneumonia he'd been fighting off, and when he opened his mouth to greet Bucky, he let out a series of harsh, wet coughs instead.
Bucky rushed over, rubbing Steve's back until the coughs subsided. "Easy," he murmured, "Just take it easy, okay?"
Steve coughed once more, thankfully only just the once. "I have been taking it easy. I've barely even left this bed." He had to stop and take a few strained breaths after speaking.
"Yeah, well, keep taking it easy." He turned to Mrs. Willis. "Thank you for watching him. I don't know how well he would have managed on his own."
"He is sitting right here."
Mrs. Willis smiled kindly. "Oh, it's quite alright, dearies."
"Are you sure we didn't take you away from anything important?" Mrs. Willis did mending and occasionally laundry for extra money.
"Oh, not at all. I was able to do all of today's work while Stevie was sleeping."
Once he'd seen Mrs. Willis out the door and back into her own apartment, Bucky got to work on making dinner. He hadn't been able to get much, even though he'd spent most of today's earnings in his one trip to the grocery store. Steve slept feverishly, but when he woke up, Bucky had a small meal ready, a bit more substantial than soup.
Steve puked it all up half an hour later.
The heat still wasn't working when night fell, so Bucky stayed in bed with Steve instead of his usual spot on the couch (they couldn't afford a second bed), sponging the sweat off his face, chest, and back, and coaching him through his breathing.
He got maybe half an hour of sleep before the sun rose the next morning. Then he got up, got redressed, and started to head out to work.
He nearly collided with Johnny Willis, Mrs. Willis's grandson, as he left the apartment. As it stood, he stumbled and collided with the wall in order to avoid colliding with Johnny.
His vision swam, and he had to lean on the wall until the hallway stopped spinning. His knees were shaking, and he wondered how he was going to work (his current job involved lugging heavy boxes at a nearby butcher shop owned by a kind Romanian couple) when his legs felt like they were going to give out. He needed to work, or they wouldn't have enough money for rent, and he and Steve would both be out on the streets.
"Hey!" Something was shaking him. It was Johnny. "Are you okay?" The gangly teen's face was going in and out of focus. "Hang on, I'm going to get my Gran."
"S'fine," Bucky protested, trying to stand up straight. His knees promptly buckled.
The last thing he heard was Johnny calling frantically for his grandmother before everything went black.
Bucky woke to the feeling of fingers running through his hair. It was a familiar sensation, but one he hadn't felt since he'd moved out. It couldn't be… "Ma?"
The fingers stilled briefly, then resumed their ministrations. "You scared us there, Jamie," his mother's voice chided, "When was the last time you slept?"
Bucky groaned and opened his eyes. Sure enough, he saw his mother's worried face above his. He looked around and saw that he was lying on the ratty couch that came with the apartment, with his head in his mother's lap and a threadbare blanket thrown over him. "What time's it?" he asked, his voice rough from sleep.
"It's almost noon, Dragă," Ma told him, using a term of endearment that she'd picked up from her parents.
Almost noon?!
Bucky shot up, cursing. "I'm late!" he gasped, trying to untangle the blanket from his legs, "Eusebiu's gonna be pissed if I'm not-"
"Language!" Ma scolded again, "And don't worry about Eusebiu. Johnny's already been down and told him you're sick."
"M'not sick," he argued.
"Well, you aren't well," Mrs. Willis interjected. Bucky hadn't even noticed her presence, but there she was, sitting on a chair and daintily mending a shirt. "You took a funny turn and collapsed right outside that door, and Johnny and I had to practically carry you back inside! I'm nearly eighty years old, boy, so I'm not fit for that kind of work anymore!"
Bucky looked curiously over at his mother, who answered his unspoken question. "Mrs. Willis called me from the nearest payphone after Steve gave her my number. It's a Saturday, so Rebecca was able to cover my shift at the bakery."
Bucky swallowed. "I'm sorry. I… I don't know what hap-" He was cut off by a huge yawn that came out of nowhere.
Ma frowned disapprovingly. "I'm not going to ask you again, Jamie. When was the last time you slept?"
"Last night," he insisted, "I got what rest I could, in between makin' sure Stevie wasn't going to get too hot or too cold in the night. And he threw up at one point, so I had to wash the bowl out…" He sighed, rubbing his face. "He wasn't as bad as the night before; I think he's getting' better."
Ma reached out and cupped his chin, making him wince as she put pressure on a nasty bruise. "Since Steve has apparently been in bed all week, I assume you got this in a boxing match, and not a street fight?"
Bucky nodded. "Yeah. Day before yesterday. Shouldn't have bothered, though. I lost that one. Couldn't focus, I guess."
Mrs. Willis looked at him searchingly. "So you had a fight two days ago, and have spent the rest of your time either working your tail off or taking care of your friend. When was the last time you actually got a full night's sleep?"
Her question had Bucky wracking his brain for an answer. Steve's cough had gotten bad enough overnight that Bucky had skipped morning Mass to take care of him… "Last Saturday night," he admitted, suddenly feeling twice as tired.
His mother tutted and tugged on his shoulder, pulling him to lie back down on the couch. "Oh, Dragă… You know that's not healthy."
"Yeah, well, what else can I do?" he snapped, "Just sit back and watch while my best friend slowly dies? I don't know how his mother managed, workin' and takin' care of him at the same time. I've got to make sure he eats and keep his fever down, and I've gotta bring in enough money to pay the rent, else we're out on the street. I'm all he's got, now."
Ma gave him a sad smile and stroked his hair back. "Oh, Jamie. The two of you still have us. Your sister and I are always more than happy to help. And don't give me any of that nonsense about being a burden, either, Dragă."
Bucky sighed, closing his eyes. He was so tired.
Ma resumed running her fingers through his hair. "Just rest, Jamie. We've got everything under control."
Deciding that there was no fighting it (never in his life had Winnifred Barnes lost an argument with her own children), he repositioned himself so that he was lying on his side, and let his mother's ministrations lull him back to sleep.
Dragă: Romanian term of endearment, like 'Darling'. I don't know if it's a general term or if it's exclusively a romantic term. (If it is, and you know it, please tell me!)
Like many fanfic authors, I'm incorporating Sebastian Stan's Romanian heritage into my headcanon of Bucky's family history. In this case, Winnifred Barnes's parents were Romanian immigrants who gave her an English name when she was born after they moved to America, and she spoke exclusively Romanian until she started school.