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Friday was Bucky’s short day at the pharmacy, but that didn’t mean it was an easy work day by any means. School had just let out, which meant Bucky’s counter was getting more and more crowded by the minute. Friday was also a big date night, and Rubinstein’s--because it closed early on Fridays--was often the first stop on local aspiring lovebirds’ dates to share a soda before heading out to the pictures or the dance hall or the promenade.
That meant Bucky was hopping between making orders and taking them, and of course all the while working hard to keep his constantly expanding audience of teenage girls amused. Sometimes Bucky felt like he knew what the slaves at the Circus Maximus must’ve felt like, half-surrounded by a throng of eager eyes, multiple voices squealing for blood (or other vital fluids).
Of course, that was a rather negative, nihilistic view of being surrounded by beautiful girls for most of his work shift, and Bucky tended to leave the nihilism to Steve. Still, even when he was enjoying it (which was usually), it was a performance Bucky had to put on in addition to the job he got paid to do, and it could be downright exhausting.
Bucky traded a raspberry soda for Alice Murray’s phone number--she’d already given it to him 3 times previously, but Bucky wasn’t going to mention it--which he promptly added to the large wad in his apron pocket and moved on to take orders from a junior high couple that had just walked in. His guess was a strawberry ice cream soda, but they asked for a chocolate malted, and Bucky lost the mental bet he’d had with himself. It brought him one guess down, but he was still up over-all. You served people drinks long enough, you got really good at predicting what a certain type of person was going to order, and Bucky amused himself by keeping score.
Before he turned back for another round of prep, Bucky heard the bell jangle and looked over to see his sister Becky come through the door, her nose stuck in a book, as usual. “Whatcha readin’ today, Eggs?” he called out.
She looked up just long enough to roll her eyes at him. “It’s a new translation of Ampère’s essays. You wouldn’t understand.” Several of the younger girls around the fountain burst into giggles, and Bucky actively ignored them, because he knew they were being mean.
“You’re probably right,” he told his sister. “What can I get you, sweetheart?”
One of the bolder girls cut into their conversation. “Hey, Bucky! Why don’t you ever call me sweetheart?”
“Ice cream?” his sister said, looking up again with a keen interest at the mention of food which told Bucky she’d had her lunch tossed into a dumpster by mean girls at school again.
“Come on, Babs,” Bucky addressed his heckler in flirtatious tones he hoped would silence her for long enough to get his sister settled. “Everyone here knows you’re more salty than sweet.”
As the group of girls who’d come in with the girl in question dissolved in a cacophony of giggles and exclamations, Bucky turned back to Becky. “Okay,” he told her, grabbing one of the chilled bowls. “But you gotta have at least half a egg salad with it. Just junk food ain’t good for you.”
“Acceptable,” Becky agreed, taking a seat at the edge of the counter that had been vacated by one of the older girls looking to get into Bucky’s good graces by being nice to his sister.
“What flavor?” he asked, flipping the ice cream scoop through the air and catching it one-handed.
But Becky’s nose was in her library book again. “Surprise me.”
“Oh, me too, Bucky!” one of his audience cried out.
“Yeah, me, too!” another echoed, and soon there was a small chorus of ‘surprise me’s that Bucky could only shake his head at.
“All right, all right,” he told them. “Wait your turns, girls. There’s enough of me to go around, but you gotta be patient .”
Bucky tried not to wince at the screams and squeals that broke out over that comment as he scooped his sister a Neapolitan. He set the dish of ice cream in front of Becky and tossed in a clean spoon at the last minute before turning to make the promised sandwich. “Where’s your little sister, anyway?” he asked, grabbing two slices of white bread. After a moment of thought, he traded them for two slices of Mr. Donovan’s rye bread.
“Oh.” Becky looked up from her reading. “She told me to tell you, but I forgot.”
Bucky froze. Becky could recite pi to 50 places, but she had a bad habit of forgetting the important shit.
“The Giacanni brothers cornered little Stevie Rogers down by the butcher’s. She stayed behind to help.”
“What?!” Bucky whirled around so fast, he took out one of the soda glasses, which promptly smashed on the floor to a chorus of ‘oooooo!’s and ‘you’re in trouble!’s from the surrounding kids.
“What was that?!” old man Rubinstein’s voice cried from the back of the shop, sensing property damage.
Bucky grabbed Becky’s book and shut it, so that he had her full attention. “You left our baby sister to fight the Giacannis with Steve?!”
He didn’t have time to wait for her to sort through what the socially acceptable response was. “Damnit, Becky!” Bucky vaulted the counter, whipping off his apron as he sprinted for the door.
“Sorry, Mrs. Rubinstein!” he called out, tearing past the cash register. “I gotta take a quick break; it’s an emergency!”
“You’re a good boy, Bucky,” she told him in heavily-accented English. “Don’t forget about early closing.”
“No, Ma’am!” he yelled back.
At the door, Bucky stopped to turn around and fix the crowd at the counter with a serious gaze. “Don’t none of you touch nothin’ till I get back!” He leveled an index finger at them. “If you do, I’ll know.” Then he burst through the door and went tearing down Henry Street.
Moments later, the doorbell jangled behind him as everyone in the pharmacy under 25 years of age--with the notable exception of his sister--emerged to pelt down the street behind Bucky in hopes of seeing a fight. Right now, Bucky couldn’t worry about that, though. The Giacannis must’ve had Steve cornered for at least ten minutes now, and there was no telling what could happen with Patti there, too.
Bucky stretched out his long legs, running full out, so fast his paper hat got left behind at the first block. But he kept going. When Bucky got within sight of Carroll’s, he could hear the screaming. Somehow, he found a last burst of speed to sprint across the street, nearly getting hit by a Model A in the process.
He ran straight for the side alley, into a scene of carnage that fit one of his worst nightmares. Steve was lying in a pile of garbage, covered in blood, with Anthony Giacanni pounding his face into hamburger. Meanwhile, his brother Vito stumbled around the alley with Bucky’s 8-year-old sister clinging to his back, trying to get the huge boy in a sleeper hold. As he watched, she leaned forward and bit the older boy’s ear, her mouth coming away bloody.
That’s my girl , Bucky thought, focusing his momentum on Anthony, who kept on punching the prone Steve, in spite of the fact the sickly boy wasn’t--and likely couldn’t--fight back. With a primal roar, Bucky tackled Anthony to the ground, and a mad scuffle ensued for the upper hand. “Vito Giacanni, you put my baby sister down, or I swear to God, you’re next!” Bucky shouted, shoving Anthony’s face into the cobbles and putting a knee on his neck while he twisted the other boy’s arm painfully behind his back.
Hearing Bucky’s voice, Vito stopped whacking Patti with the stick he’d picked up to swat behind him, looking vaguely frightened. “Izzat the kinda guy you are, Vito?” Bucky asked. “The kind who beats up little girls? Some big man!”
Patti jumped down, stomping on Vito’s foot as hard as she could in the process. “I ain’t no little girl!” she squeaked indignantly. Her face was bloody from the nose down, and Bucky honestly had no clue how much of it was her own.
Faced with his arch-nemesis, half an ear, and a foot with contusions, Vito Giacanni suddenly decided his little brother could fight his own battles and took off for the street. The crowd of onlookers parted for him, and then surged down the alley to get a closer look at the action.
“So tell me, Little Anthony,” Bucky said, looking down at the one furious blue eye that glared up at him from the cobbles. “What did Steve do that you didn’t like this time? Cross the street? Breathe? Look at your ugly mug?”
“Stevie!” Patti had walked around them to check on Steve, and Bucky hadn’t noticed until she started to shake him that Steve was full-on unconscious. “Brother, Stevie can’t wake up!”
“Oh God.” Bucky leapt up, paying Anthony back completely forgotten in his hurry to check on Steve. He tried to wipe some of the blood from Steve’s face to get a better look, needing to check that his friend was still breathing. “Patti get his bag!” Bucky told her. “What’d they do with Steve’s bag?”
“I know it!” Patti ran for one of the nearby garbage cans. Behind her, Anthony stumbled off toward the street, rubbing his neck.
“I’ll get you for this, Bucky Barnes!” he shouted. “I hope you know, this means war!”
Patti stopped in the process of retrieving Steve’s bag and, screaming like a banshee, went running down the alley toward Anthony, who promptly took off like the devil was after him.
Steve was breathing, but he needed his medicine and the hospital, in that order. Patti reappeared at Bucky’s side with Steve’s bag, and he reached in to get the nebulizer. Propping Steve up against the wall, Bucky held the face mask over his friend’s nose and mouth and started squeezing the pump. Steve looked deathly pale, even without the blood pouring out of his nose, which was scarier still. Bucky had to hold the face mask at an angle so that it wouldn’t catch Steve’s blood. He counted 15 seconds, and that was all Bucky could stand to wait. Steve still wasn’t responding, so he passed the nebulizer back to Patti and scooped up his best friend.
Bucky always felt that, as big as Steve’s personality was, he should weigh more. Times like this, his 90 pounds were a sharp reminder of just how frail Steve’s body was. “Get outta the way!” Bucky shouted at the looky-loos standing between him and the street, suddenly having zero tolerance for any of them. “Patti, bring Steve’s stuff,” he called back to his sister.
Fortunately, the hospital was only four blocks away. Bucky led the procession down Henry carrying Steve in a very un-manly way his best friend would have surely resented had he been conscious. Patti followed close behind, wearing Steve’s bag like a badge of honor, and after her a long stream of curious neighborhood kids trailed along.
Bucky burst through the hospital doors dramatically. “Help!” After 21 years of frequent extended visits, Steve’s face was very well-known at the hospital where Sarah Rogers had worked.
Another nurse came to lead Bucky into Emergency. “You children, shoo off!” she scolded the parade of onlookers. “This ain’t live theatre. Go on home!”
Bucky was laying Steve in a hospital bed when he heard Nurse O’Neal, who had been one of Sarah Rogers’ closest friends, enter the ER. “Steven!”
“I don’t know what happened,” Bucky stammered, as she stepped in to check Steve’s vitals.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Bucky!” she swore. “I told you boys to quit pickin’ those fights around the neighborhood!”
Bucky stepped out of the way, keeping his mouth shut. It wouldn’t do any good to try to explain that trouble tended to find Steve, even when he wasn’t looking for it.
“But he DIDN’T, Miss O’Neal!” Patti piped up from the vicinity of Bucky’s elbow. He’d momentarily forgotten she was there.
“Who is that I hear now?” The nurse turned to peer around Bucky at his bloody-faced little sister. “Patricia Barnes, don’t tell me you’ve started joining in their fool fights! Come here, A stór . Just look at your wee face.” Nurse O’Neal let the other nurse get Steve on an IV while she knelt down to wipe Patti’s face with a damp cloth she’d produced seemingly out of thin air.
“Noooooooo!” Patti protested loudly as the blood was wiped clean, none of it hers, Bucky noticed with relief and a bit of fear.
“Cut it out.” Bucky rested his hand on top of his sister’s head to silence her. “I already used his nebulizer,” he told the nurse. “I don’t know if that was the right thing.”
“You’re a good boy, Bucky.” She smiled up at him, the fatigue of long hours showing in the corners of her eyes. “Sure and a bit of adrenaline didn’t do him any harm. You just leave the rest to us now, hm?”
“Is he gonna be okay?” Bucky asked, watching them give Steve oxygen.
“Of course, A leanbh .” She stood and patted Bucky reassuringly on the cheek. “I have no doubt his bloody nose scared the devil out of you, though.” It was true with the blood gone, Steve didn’t look half so bad. But still.
“Why won’t he wake up?” Bucky asked. Patti reached up to take his hand, leaning her cheek against the back of it.
The nurse took a deep breath before answering, and Bucky could tell she was more worried than she let on. “Probably his blood pressure again.”
Bucky took one more worrisome, longing look at Steve, knowing if he tried to stay, he’d only be in the way. “I’ll be back to check on him later,” he promised.
“You’re such a good friend to him,” she told Bucky, patting his cheek. “Give my love to your mam.”
“Sure,” Bucky nodded, reluctantly backing away with Patti by his side.
As they walked back to the pharmacy, Bucky realised he should have checked the time at the hospital. If he got back and the shop was already closed, he might be out of a job now. At his side, Patti skipped down the street as if nothing in the world had ever happened.
“I like Nurse O’Neal,” she told her brother. “She’s pretty and nice.”
Bucky sighed. “She’s right, too. You shouldn’ta been fighting in the alley with Steve.”
Patti looked up at him, indignant. “But you wasn’t there!”
“‘Weren’t there’,” Bucky corrected. “And that don’t matter, ‘cause you shouldn’t be fightin’ guys five times as big as you.”
“Aw, I wasn’t scared.” Patti puffed herself up, the picture of a street tough with her bare scabbed knees and patent leather mary janes.
“That ain’t the point, Brat,” Bucky told her. “You coulda got seriously hurt. You think Vito cares about punching a little girl?”
“Well I punched him first,” Patti bragged. “Right in the baby place.”
Bucky knew if he laughed, it would just encourage her. So he held his breath.
“He didn’t like that. POW!” She re-enacted the moment, dick-punching the air.
“Who taught you to do that?” Bucky asked, still holding back laughter. “To punch a guy in the baby place?”
“Stevie,” Patti said, smiling up at him, sweetly.
Damnit, Steve. Bucky had a lot more to say about this, but they turned the corner and could see the shop up ahead. The sign was turned to CLOSED.
“No!” Bucky ran over to check that the door was truly locked. It was. He glanced over at the bank’s clock across the street. 4:30pm. Bucky leaned his forehead on the closed door. “Shit.”
“Shhhit!” Patti took pleasure in repeating the word behind him.
“Patti!” Bucky turned on her. “Don’t say that word!”
“You said it!” Patti pointed out.
“Yeah, well I probably just lost my job,” Bucky said. “That means I’m allowed to say it at least once.”
“Me, too, then!” Patti insisted.
“Look here, Brat--” Bucky was interrupted by the door opening against him, shoving him almost to the curb.
“Why the long face, Pretty Boy?” Kate asked, reaching up to squish his face with one hand.
“Katie?” Bucky asked, through a squished face.
She turned to lock up, then handed Bucky his store keys. “I came down to pick up the girls so they wouldn’t bug you while you were working,” Kate explained. “Good thing, too. Rubinstein was screaming for your blood before I paid him back for the broken glass and closed the counter for you.”
“Oh God, Kate.” Bucky collapsed against her with a relieved hug. “Thank you, honey.”
“So you’re not fired, Pretty,” Kate smiled, patting his back. “But you will have to work extra time on Sunday to make up for cutting out today.”
Bucky sighed. “Whatever it takes, I don’t care.”
“Come on,” Kate said. “Let’s go home.” She took Patti’s free hand and together the three of them walked down the street.
When they turned on Willow, Kate asked, “So, who won?”
“WE won!” Patti answered, proudly.
Kate’s eyes widened. “Patricia Susan Barnes, were you fighting?”
“Yup!”
It was a rare occasion when Kate was at a loss for words. “Bucky, do something!”
Bucky shook his head. “Forget it. I already tried.”
Patti just laughed and skipped happily.
“Oh my God,” Kate groaned.
“And I wouldn’t say we won,” Bucky added. “Steve’s in the hospital.”
“What?” Kate stopped walking. “What happened?”
Bucky shrugged. “I dunno. I got there too late.”
Kate pursed her lips until they formed a straight line on her face. “Do you need to go?”
Bucky shrugged, feeling helpless. Kate let go of Patti’s hand to fish in her bag. She pulled out a stromboli, and thrust it into Bucky’s hand. “So you don’t forget to eat.”
Bucky looked down at the pastry, realizing she’d just given him permission to go. “Did I tell you you’re the best?”
“Shush. Just call us if they let you stay overnight.” Bucky nodded.
“Is there a girl I should be saying sorry to for tonight?” she called after him as Bucky took off for the hospital.
He had to think about that. “Probably,” he called back. “I don’t remember which!”
“You’re a cad, James Barnes!” But Kate was smiling when he looked back.
Patti was waving. “Love you, Brother! Take care of Stevie!”
“I will! Love you both!” Bucky took off at a jog. Maybe they wouldn’t let him into the ER again, but he had to try.
-
Where Steve Rogers was concerned, visitors’ hours were often disregarded. It was 3am when Steve opened his eyes to the pristine white walls of the hospital he knew so well. There was a familiar weight next to him on the bed. Steve looked down to see Bucky sleeping in the chair next to him. His head was pillowed on his arms, which rested on the hospital bed by Steve’s right hip. He reached out to stroke Bucky’s hair. “Jerk,” Steve whispered, smiling. He hurt like hell. Both of his eyes were swollen nearly shut, and his nose had to be broken. But it hurt less with Bucky beside him.
“Holy God.” He must have awakened his best friend, because Bucky was looking up at Steve with horror. “They really fucked you up.” He started to reach up toward Steve’s face and then paused, afraid to add to the pain.
“You got ‘em back, though,” Steve smiled, even though it hurt. “I bet.”
Bucky shrugged. “Not enough.” He just stared at Steve for a moment, wincing in sympathy. “How you feelin’?”
“Just about like I look.”
Bucky frowned. “You’re gonna miss class again.”
This time it was easier to smile. “Guess I’ll just have to do another make-up assignment.”
Bucky laughed. “Maybe we’ll go to the park for this one.”
“No way.” Steve shook his head no. “I can’t have you pose naked there.”
“Well, you COULD,” Bucky joked.
“Nope,” Steve insisted. “I ain’t sharin’.” He leaned over to kiss Bucky, and cried out when even that hurt.
“Hey.” Bucky glanced around, paranoid. Luckily, no one seemed to have noticed Steve’s indiscretion. Bucky turned back, his hand hovering millimeters from Steve’s cheek, because touching his face would hurt, Bucky knew. “Be careful, Stevie.”
Steve was staring at the hospital blanket, looking glum. “Will you stay with me tonight, Buck?”
Bucky squeezed his hand. “‘course I will.”
“Come up on the bed?” Steve asked, blue eyes pleading.
Bucky snorted. “Steve, we haven’t both fit in the hospital bed since you were ten.”
Steve pouted.
“Don’t gimme that look, Stevie. It’s physics. You can’t pout away physics.”
Steve pouted more.
“The best I can do is one butt-cheek,” Bucky offered, standing and half-sitting down on the edge of the bed next to Steve.
“Okay,” Steve said, mollified. He reached down and took Bucky’s hand. Then he lay back against his pillows, relaxing. “I’m glad you’re here, Buck.”
It was hard to balance, but Bucky did it for his best friend, his other leg braced on the chair to keep him in the bed. “Wouldn’t miss it,” Bucky said, leaning gently against Steve. “But you really gotta stop getting punched, Stevie.”
“It’s something to work towards,” Steve murmured, getting drowsy now that Bucky’s warmth was braced against him.
Bucky shook his head, smiling in spite of himself. “What’m I gonna do with you, pal?”
Steve opened his eyes. “Stay with me?”
“I meant besides that,” Bucky said. Because the staying with part had to be obvious by now.
But Steve wasn’t really listening anymore. He leaned his head against Bucky’s arm, and his breathing evened out as he fell back into a semi-drugged sleep.
Bucky made sure no one was looking before he turned to press a kiss to Steve’s hair. “Punk.” Steve’s fingers tightened around his, briefly.
Bucky had lost count of the number of times he’d stayed with Steve in the hospital. It was weirder now, though--definitely sadder--with Steve’s mom gone. Part of Bucky didn’t believe in ghosts, but another part wondered if she was still here somehow, in the hospital where she’d spent more time than she’d spent at home. He felt like it would make Steve feel better to know his mom was still watching over him.
As his eyelids started to feel heavy, Bucky could just imagine her leaning over the hospital bed and pulling the blankets up a little, brushing Steve’s hair back from his forehead to kiss it. It was funny, thinking of Sarah Rogers made Bucky really miss her all of a sudden, and she wasn’t even his mom.
You’re a good boy, Bucky.
Bucky opened his eyes. Had he dreamed that? He turned on his side, curling around Steve, trying in vain to fit himself onto the bed. Well, if ghosts were real, Bucky decided, Sarah Rogers definitely wouldn’t be one to fear. Unless your name was Anthony Giacanni.
“Good night, Steve,” Bucky murmured, hiding his face in Steve’s pillows.
“Night, jerk,” Steve mumbled, half-asleep. “Love you.”
Bucky’s eyes snapped open. No, that had been the drugs talking. Right? He draped an arm across Steve just the same, giving his friend a little squeeze before shutting his eyes again. “Love you more.”