Chapter Text
The year after they become friends, Steve spends Christmas laid up in bed. It can't be helped, Sarah Rogers explains to a ten-year-old Bucky, with a sad little smile on her face that makes his heart drop. He notices the way she wrings her hands, though, the way her face seems extra tired. Doesn't say anything about it, and when he gives her the flowers he'd picked for her along the way, she finally agrees to let him come in and say hi. At least long enough to give Steve his gift he says, and when he gets into the room, he almost doesn't see him for how many blankets are piled on the bed. ( Borrowed from the neighbors, Sarah tells him, and Bucky can't helping getting mad at himself for not bringing one too. ) Sarah makes him promise not to stay too long so he doesn't get sick too, and watches from the doorway as he steps into the room.
When he glances back to look at her, Sarah's arms are crossed over her chest and there's a fierce look on her face. He recognizes it in Steve's movements, the protective posture and eyes searching for any misdeeds. It's tempered by a weariness that Steve doesn't share though, and when she realizes he's looking at her, Sarah gives him a little smile. Bucky's heart swells, and he creeps back, stands on tiptoes to kiss her cheek and smile. The sharp expression leaves her face then, replaced with surprise.
"You're a good mom," Bucky whispers to her, and Sarah's eyes go shiny and wet. "Steve's lucky to have you."
"Thank you, James." Sarah ruffles his hair, laughing quietly. "I'm glad you're his friend. He needs good boys like you around."
His cheeks go warm at that, and for a second he considers challenging the compliment. But it's not the time or place, so Bucky gives her another smile before tiptoeing back to Steve's bedside. He's a sight to see, sweating and trembling and most of the ways to unconscious. Bucky's hands tighten on his gift, and he can't help feeling guilty for it; if he'd known Steve wasn't doing so good he woulda gotten him something that might have actually helped. As it stands, the special drawing pencils his ma had helped him pick out feel painfully inadequate, and for a second, he considers just setting them on the bedside and leaving.
"Happy Christmas, Stevie," Bucky murmurs as he sets the present on the nightstand, and he's quick to turn to leave.
That is, until a tug at his sleeve stops him, and when he looks, there's a hand gripping onto it. Steve smiles when Bucky meets his eyes, wheezing quietly at him. "Bucky? Why're you here?"
There's a laugh. "S'Christmas. I got you somethin'." Bucky motions to the gift, then pauses before adding, "You don't hafta open it now, though, it can wait. Y'gotta get better first."
Steve sighs, and Bucky swears he can hear the breath rattling in his chest. "Be fine soon, Buck. You'll see."
He closes his eyes as he falls back asleep, and when his grip slips, Bucky catches Steve's hand in his own. His skin is hot to the touch, even though he's trembling, and Bucky can't help the little seed of worry that starts in his chest. He'd never thought about it before; sure, he's seen Steve have one of his attacks, and he knows he's gotta have special lunch and stuff, but nothing like this. What if he doesn't get better?
Bucky tucks Steve's hand back under the covers, and something clicks into place in his head. He makes his way back to Sarah maybe a little faster than he should, but she's smiling when he gets there. Bucky glances down and away as he thinks of how to phrase it, bites at his lip before looking to meet her eyes. "Can I sit with him a little while?"
The surprise is plain on her face, and Sarah bends over a little so they're face to face. "I don't know if that's a good idea, James. He's very sick, and he'd be mad at himself if he infected you too."
He grins wide, trying to reassure her. "I'll be okay. Ma says I'm stronger'n most boys, I swear I won't catch anything." Bucky gets quiet then, studying her face. Sarah Rogers is always really pretty, but today it's tempered with bags under her eyes he hadn't noticed before, and he can't help thinking of the tired smile she'd given him earlier. He's almost shy about it as he suggests, "'Sides, you look like you could use a rest. I'll take care of him for a while. Promise I won't let nothin' happen."
Sarah hesitates, and Bucky knows that the prospect of leaving a nine year old in the care of a boy not much older isn't a lot of comfort. But he hopes he's proven he's worthy of her trust in the time he and Steve have been friends, and when she leans to kiss his forehead, there's a smile that comes with it. "All right. But only for an hour, okay? After that, you've got to get home to your family. I'm sure they'll miss you if you're gone too long."
It's not true, but he doesn't tell her that — Ma's got her hands too full with cooking and the new baby, and his old man won't be home until late. He's got at least a few hours, and Bucky grins wide when Sarah gives him that permission, then trots back over to Steve's bedside. "Hey Steve. I'm gonna give your mom a break, okay?" He pulls the chair from the desk by the window, plants himself on it. "S'just you'n me, pal, I'll take good care of ya." Bucky glances up to see Sarah watching them, and the two of them share a smile before she closes the door quietly.
The first ten minutes pass in silence with Bucky sitting ramrod-straight on the edge of the chair, ready to jump for anything Steve needs. Instead, he just sleeps, and as those ten minutes pass Bucky's enthusiasm starts to flag. He refuses to give up, though, and after another ten minutes he realizes that the towel on Steve's forehead has slid off. He reaches to fix it, brushes his fingers against hot skin — and Steve gasps.
"S'cold," he mumbles, shifting under the blankets, and Bucky swears his heart starts banging around loud enough in his chest for Steve hear it too; he only hopes he's too sick to notice.
It's a weird feeling, and it scares him at first. He pulls his hand back on instinct, fascinated as Steve groans, rolls his head in search of that touch. Just little movements; he's too sick for much else. Bucky pauses for just a second, considering what he's about to do, before laying his hand across Steve's forehead. His fever is much more apparent with the full-on touch, but he settles almost immediately, breathing calming down to something closer to normal. Bucky smiles, and when Steve cracks open his eyes, his heart soars.
"Bucky?" He sniffles, and it's almost a pathetic sound. "What're you doing here?"
"Takin' care of you," comes the easy response, as though Steve hadn't already asked him before, and somehow, it just feels right.
Steve nods, as if it's normal for Bucky to be there, as if it's normal for him to take care of him, before closing his eyes. "Feels nice."
His heart starts thrashing around again, and even though Bucky doesn't understand what it means, it's a good feeling. He brushes Steve's hair back, daubs at his temples with the towel, before setting his hand on his forehead again and watching him fall asleep again. Watching over Steve like this feels good. It feels natural. Bucky smiles, knows from the very roots of his soul that this is right where he's supposed to be, if not now then for the rest of his life, too.
Sarah walks in a little less than half an hour later and has to stop herself at the door. Laughs quietly to herself, and she sets down the mugs of hot chocolate she'd been carrying to fetch the blanket from her bed and drape it over Bucky's shoulders where he's fallen asleep at Steve's side. She pulls in another chair from the little table outside, and sits down with a magazine.
When Bucky wakes, he's got a crick in his neck and his back is sore. But when he looks up and sees Sarah dozing on the other side of Steve's bed and feels a skinny hand in his hair, it's the first time he's known what it feels like to be home.