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The September after Steve turned sixteen, Bucky got sick. Which in itself was already unusual. Bucky never got sick. But it was also an unusual sickness, and if things had been different, it might have put him in the hospital, but as things were, it meant that he missed nearly a week of school and spent a lot of time in bed.
This left Steve to face school alone for the first time in, well, ever. It didn't go particularly well, not when Steve mouthed off at the wrong time and, without anyone to back him up, ended up with a black eye, a split lip, and a lecture from his mother that shamed him enough that he almost agreed to behave.
"You're going to get yourself killed at this rate, Steve," she said, tutting and lifting his chin to get a look at him.
"I'm fine-" he interjected, and he would have continued to argue, but she whacked him hard enough on the shoulder that he knew better and kept his mouth shut.
"Bucky's not going to be sick forever," she said. "Can't you just stay in line until you've got someone looking out for you?"
"I'm fine," repeated Steve.
"Maybe," said his mother, "maybe this time you got lucky, kid, but next time, what am I supposed to do if they put you in the hospital?"
Steve frowned, looking down at his scuffed shoes. He hated when his Ma worried, and he hated even more when it was his fault.
"Can I go now?" he asked, "Mrs. Moore asked me to take some work over to Bucky."
His mother straightened, smoothing the front of her house dress. Today was her day off, and as usual, she spent most of it cleaning with her hair twisted up in curls and pinned under one of the worn, thin scarves she kept in the top drawer of her vanity.
"I bet she did," she said, "and for once, you didn't argue, did you?"
When he didn't answer, she sighed, one of those full body sighs that shook her narrow shoulders.
"Fine," she said, "but you do whatever Mrs. Barnes says, you hear? And if she sends you right back home, you'd better turn yourself right around- we got a deal?"
Steve popped off the wobbly kitchen chair, slung his scratched school bag over his shoulder, and was out of the door in about half a second, his mother's voice echoing after him- "Do we got a deal or not, Stevie?!"
"I'll be back!" he called, letting the door slam behind him and starting down the stairs, wincing as the door crashed shut.
There was still plenty of time to make it to the Barnes and get back before it got dark. It was still early enough in the fall that the afternoons were still long and full of golden sunlight. Steve hurried anyway, and he was out of breath when he arrived outside the front of the building.
He could go upstairs to the Barnes' apartment, knock on the door and talk to Bucky's mother- a stern woman, but she liked Steve at least most of the time. Still, there was no guarantee that she'd let him in, and Steve hadn't heard from Bucky since last week. Not since he'd started coughing out a lung halfway through English and got sent home.
And that, as far as Steve was concerned, was far too long; besides, when it was the other way round, Bucky always managed to find a way to come to see him, so really, he was obligated to return the favor.
So, instead of going in the front like he should and doing what his mother had told him, Steve took the fire escape. It happened to go right past Bucky's bedroom window. The window was broken and only opened about halfway, but Steve was skinny. He was pretty sure he'd be able to wriggle through if he tried hard enough.
And if he couldn't, well, it was a warm afternoon, he could just sit outside for a while. By the time he'd almost reached the second story window, Steve was aware of how his breath caught in his chest. He clung tight to the railing, trying to focus on getting air into his lungs until he was sure he hadn't once again accidentally triggered an asthma attack and could climb the last few stairs to Bucky's window.
Steve ducked down, peering through the smudged glass. Bucky was propped up in bed on the far side of the small bedroom. He bent double, coughing into his elbow, and it shook his whole body.
Steve hated it. He hated seeing Bucky like that, and for once, he appreciated why Bucky bitched whenever he was sick.
Steve rapped twice on the corner of the window, loud enough that he hoped it would get Bucky's attention but not anyone else's. It worked. Bucky's head snapped around to look at him, and Steve waved through the glass before sliding his fingers through the open crack at the bottom and pushing it as far open as it would go.
"Christ-" rasped Bucky, grinning. "Boy, I'm glad to see you."
That was all the invitation Steve needed to push his bag through the gap in the window before he followed it and pulled himself through the narrow opening. His feet kicked in the air behind him as he landed in a heap on Bucky's floor. It was terribly undignified, and if it had been anyone other than Bucky watching, he would have been mortified, but as it was, he didn't care in the slightest, and once he'd pulled his left foot through, he sat up, crossing his legs.
"I thought you could use some company," he said.
"No kidding," said Bucky. He tried to sit up a little straighter and went into another coughing fit. Steve clambered up off the floor and crossed to the bed, prodding Bucky in the side.
"Cut it out," gasped Bucky. "Can't you see I'm dying over here?"
"Move over," said Steve. Bucky grumbled, wheezing, but he shuffled over, giving Steve enough space to sit on the bed beside him.
"Not that I'm not incredibly grateful you're here," said Bucky, "but shouldn't you not be?"
"Mrs. Moore sent me," replied Steve. "I brought your homework."
"Of course she did," muttered Bucky, "but what am I supposed to do if I get you sick too? And then you die or something, how am I supposed to live with myself- and you already got yourself a helluva shiner- how did you manage that?"
"You're not going to get me sick," said Steve, ignoring the comment about the shiner.
"Oh yeah? And what makes you so sure?"
"Cuz I'm pretty sure you're not actually sick."
"I'm pretty sure five days of fevers and coughing like I'm gonna die beg to differ."
"See," said Steve, "the thing is that Mrs. Reading got sick too, and she went to the hospital-"
"And how is telling me that gonna convince me I'm not going to give you the plague or something?"
"Lemme finish-! So Mrs. Reading went to the hospital, and I guess she wasn't sick at all. She'd poisoned herself by accident."
" What ?!"
"So you know how Richardson was eating in class at the end of last year? Well, I guess when he got called out for it, he just stowed his sandwich somewhere, and it sat all summer, and when Mrs. Reading came back, the whole place was infested with flies."
"You're kidding-"
"She was killing them with some kinda powder, sprinkling it on the window sills or something."
"So you're telling me I'm dying because I breathed in fly powder?!"
"You're not dying, but pretty much."
Bucky started hacking into his elbow again, and when he finally stopped, he was red faced and out of breath.
"Is this how you feel all the time?" he asked.
"Not all the time," said Steve absently. He'd started shuffling through the mess piled on Bucky's bedside table, looking for something interesting to read. But all he could come up with was a dusty, wrinkled paper from a couple of weeks ago. It was from Maryland, so it had to be from when Bucky's Aunt Rose had been staying last month.
She had only visited for a week and a half. Steve had never met her, but considering that the whole visit Bucky had been over at his place complaining about having to sleep on the lumpy old couch in the living room, it sure felt like an eternity.
If he'd been able to, Steve would have gone to the living room where the big bookshelf was, but considering that Steve was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to be here and that Mrs. Barnes was sure to be cross if she found out he was, it wasn't worth the risk. They'd just have to make do with the paper.
He carefully pulled it free from the heap of detritus and shook it over the floor.
"What are you doing?"
The idea of reading to Bucky had seemed fine and normal until Steve had to say it out loud, and then it seemed a lot less of a good idea.
But Steve wasn't one to back down from a bad idea, even when it was slightly mortifying, so he told Bucky anyhow and tried to pretend that his ears weren’t burning a bright crimson.
"You always read to me when I'm sick," he said, trying to surreptitiously look anywhere that wasn't at Bucky. "I thought I'd return the favor for once."
"With an old paper?"
"Sure," said Steve. "It'll be new and exciting- maybe you'll learn something. Or it won't, and I'll make a fool of myself."
Bucky's burst of laughter turned to a wheeze, and he rubbed gingerly at his chest.
"Don't make me laugh," he whined. "You'll put me in the ground."
"You're fine; you're not even sick."
"Just poisoned."
"Probably," said Steve, "but you're not dead yet, and they told Mrs. Reading she'd be fine once she got the powder out of her lungs.
Bucky yawned, tipping over sideways to lean on Steve's shoulder.
"Tell me a story, Stevie," he said.
"I'm going to try," said Steve. He shook the paper open and cleared his throat, scanning the yellowed pages, looking for something mildly interesting.
He had trouble focusing whenever Bucky would lean on him like this. The point where they'd touched, drawing on Steve’s attention until it was all he could focus on, and became so overwhelming that he'd have to move.
But today, he was determined not to let that happen and did his best to ignore Bucky's cheek on his shoulder and the way his hair tickled Steve's neck.
Steve cleared his throat.
"How about this: Mrs. Darla Davis was brought to court last week when her husband filed for divorce on account of her ‘ making eyes ’ at one of his associates at a party."
"What?"
"You heard me," said Steve. "Mr. Davis brought Mrs. Davis to court on account of her making "eyes" at someone at a party."
"That's in the paper?"
"Sure," said Steve, he scanned the next couple of lines. "It says here that their maid was brought to the stand on Mr. Davis’ behalf. I guess he can't see too good- so according to her- the maid, I mean, Mrs. Davis, was making ‘eyes’ right in front of him-"
Steve looked at Bucky over the top of the paper; he didn't look impressed.
"Want me to keep going about Mrs. Davis, or you want to take a gamble on page two?"
"Take the gamble," said Bucky.
"Suit yourself," said Steve, turning the page.
"Let's see," he said, skimming over the advertisements.
"What's an ear worth?" read Steve. "Anthony Andre is asking that in court of Peter Fontz, as Fontz bit off half his ear. He is also asking for physician’s fees."
" Wait -" said Bucky, "so you're tellin' me that some guy got half his ear bit off, and he's gonna sue the guy who bit him?"
"That's what I'm telling you," said Steve.
"And how much is half an ear worth?"
"According to the paper, about five thousand."
"Dollars?!"
"No, bags of flour."
Bucky jabbed Steve hard in the thigh with his thumb, making him shuffle to the left to try and get away, only there wasn't far to go before he'd tumbled off the narrow bed.
"I told you-" said Bucky, "don't make me laugh."
"You're fine ," said Steve. Adding, "I don't think he was suing for the full five grand since it was only half an ear."
"If some chucklehead bit off half my ear, I'm chargin' him for the whole thing," said Bucky, "you bit it, you bought it kinda deal."
That made Steve laugh, and between the worry he'd had for Bucky and the lack of sleep from the stress, he'd gone a little punch drunk. Cackling until he'd doubled over, he got Bucky going, too, and his laughter quickly turned into another coughing fit.
They must have been loud enough that Mrs. Barnes heard them from down the hall, and she materialized at the door in her house dress and floral apron, her hands on her hips looking exasperated as ever.
"Why is it always you two, huh?" she said, brandishing her spoon. "Steve, you of all people ought to know better than to bother someone when they're sick-"
"Sorry!" said Steve, scrambling up, while Bucky sighed, slumping back into his bed.
"It was nice while it lasted," he said, looking forlorn, "I'll miss you, Stevie. Don't forget me while I'm gone-"
Steve snorted and bent to dig out the notes he'd brought, setting the pile on the edge of Bucky's bed.
"Sorry, Mrs. Barnes," he said, straightening, "Mrs. Moore asked me to bring over some notes, and I got distracted."
"Of course you did," she said, ushering Steve out the door. "Now get yourself home before you get whatever James has got. The last thing I need to worry myself about is you getting sick too!"
Steve ducked his head and apologized again. He was good at apologizing, and just because he got caught didn't mean that he wouldn't be back tomorrow as soon as school had ended, because he would. He'd worm his way back through Bucky's window, and this time, he'd be ready with something better to read. After all, Bucky always looked after him when he was sick, and he'd be damned if he didn't do the same.