Ugh. Its smells like shit.
Disinfected vomity feverish shit.
Steve hates the ER.
He flinches as an old women in a purple moo moo across from him coughs with out covering her mouth then proceeds to grin at him, simultaneously showing off her missing front teeth. Great.
"Hey Steve you're all set. I gotta get to work. The bar needs me back, apparently they got a twenty first birthday party rush and George is too new to handle it. You gonna be okay?" Sam asks, solid hand on Steves shoulder.
Steve raises an eyebrow in mock question as he motions to the bloody rag he's currently holding over eighty percent of his face. He doesn't know where that guy with the beer bottle came from, so not a fair fight, the asshole. His whole head is throbbing, especially his nose. God, he hopes it isn't broken. He really liked his nose.
Sam gives him a half smile and pats him on the back, knowing that if Steve can still use his amazing personality he'd be okay.
"Thats what you get for being a good samaritan," Sam chuckles standing back up to his full height, "Call me when you know the damage. Good luck and, " He glances around with a slightly disgusted face at the cramped Emergency room, "Don't catch anything." With a last salute he walks out the sliding doors and into the dimly lit parking lot.
Steve sighs and leans his elbow on the arm of the oddly small and annoyingly uncomfortable chair. He counts the throbs pulsating from his face as he tries to block out the multiple coughs, sniffles and baby cries coming from all around him.
He picks up the coke Sam bought him from the vending machine, sighing in relief when he places it over the fist that had hit a few to many faces tonight. In self defense he swears.
No doubt from the stinging alone there are a few cuts on his knuckles, but, that particular hand is to busy preventing all of the blood in Steves body from draining out his face, so, he avoids the urge to look.
"Wooowheeeeeee. Let me guess. Bar fight." Steve jumps at the sudden voice, groaning when he accidentally jars the rag against his nose.
"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. Don't go hurting yourself now." A soft chuckle escapes the man now apparently occupying the once empty hospital chair beside Steve.
Since Steves whole body is one sore mess he has to swivel at the waist to look at the man beside him. And damn, okay. Maybe he likes the ER now.
He looks at the man with his one exposed eye, he has longish brown hair, it seems to be in a mess, dirt sprinkling the strands and he's not sure but Steve thinks there might be a leaf sticking out of the back. Its unbelievably adorable. His face is even better, sharp jawline with the perfect amount of scruff, piercing blue eyes, and lips pulled into a smirk that one would only label as sinful. He also has numerous patches of dirt patching his face in small wisps. Steve finally glances down, he's clutching his left arm in a felt blanket pulled close to his body, his black shirt smudged with the same brown as his hair and face.
Steve laughs, thanking god the rag is covering most of his face or the grin plastered there would be stupidly embarrassing.
"How'd you know?" Steve inquires, there could have been a million possibilities as to why his face was bleeding.
The man smirks again, flicking a couple strands out of his face with a whip of his head. Its...so attractive...Woah, maybe he was hit to hard. Get your self together Steve!
"It smells like you went swimming in a pool of beer, and..." The man glances down at the silver watch on his uninjured arm "...its 12:30 at night on a Saturday, peek time for dumb drunks to do dumb things." He says, propping his elbow on the back of his chair facing Steve.
"Huh! Good observation." Steve says glancing down, and oh god. His shirt was soaked with none other than some form of cheap beer, he hadn't even been paying attention to that part. He takes his thumb and pointer finger and pries the moist shirt from his chest with a slurp sound.
"Gross." Steve says, letting go of the shirt.
"Might not smell to good but it does accentuate your...assets." The man said motioning in a circle to Steves chest. Steves mouth falls open and he's pretty sure a squeak falls out.
Jesus, can a hole open up and swallow him alive. This guy can't be real. Theres that charming laugh again, it makes the corner of the mans eyes crinkle harshly and Steve didn't know he had a thing for that until now. And yeah, Steve definitely has a thing for that.
Then suddenly theres a strong looking hand with dirt under ever nail in front of him.
"Im Bucky by the way." Steve scrambles to set the coke can he forgot he was holding down, and promptly switches holding the rag with his left hand instead of his right.
"Steve." He says, clutching the slightly smaller hand of Bucky. He'd revile in the feel of the soft but rough hands of the other man if a pain didn't shoot straight through his hand, a sharp hiss falls out of Steves mouth before he can catch it. God DAMN IT. Where is that hole.
Bucky pauses concern on his face as he loosens his grip but doesn't let go. Gently, he turns Steves hand in his until its facing up, Steve cringes, rag still pressed to his face.
"I... Didn't know it was that bad. Sorry, I, probably got blood on you." Steve says with a blush, having mixed emotions given the concern on Buckys face. In the end he pulls his hand away, slightly embarrassed this stranger just touched his bloody cut up hand.
Bucky looks back at him, propping his elbow back on the edge of the chair but this time leaning his head into his hand, a cute tilt as his hair falls a little in his eyes.
Steve trys not to swoon he really does. Its just really damn hard.
"Can I, see the damage?"
"Huh?" Steve says dumbly.
"Your face? Im assuming most of the damage is in your face considering the towel. Not that half your mouth and one eye aren't charming enough."
Dammit, what is this guy? Theres weird women in moo moos, feverish children and the smell of vomit in the air and he wants to flirt? Jesus.
Well, at least the blood and swelling will probably distract from his fire engine blush.
"Oh duh. Uhm, o-okay." Steve says, stuttering. Gently lowering the rag, it tugs on a few places where smaller cuts had started to heal then suddenly theres a sharp intake of breath, and Buckys ocean blue eyes widen, moving his face closer to inspect the apparently not too pretty damage of Steves face.
Steves breath hitches when warm fingers gently touch his jaw, turning his face to the side.
"Beer bottle. Apparently a full one by the look of my shirt." Steve laughs, the movement causing his nose to sting, but with this attractive man so close he really doesn't care.
Bucky chuckles, the hot air hitting entirely to close to Steves mouth, he shivers. Is this guy using magic? Or maybe he acts like this with everyone? A personal space problem?
Steve clears his throat, trying to clear the lump thats forming. Bucky smirks and pulls back.
"Let me guess, dirt bike?" Steve says, placing the rag back on his face, he thinks he can feel blood trickle from the deepest wound on his forehead.
Bucky looks down at his wrapped arm sat against his muscular thighs.
"Correct." Bucky says with a laugh, a blush creeping onto his cheeks.
"Pretty sure my poor arm is broken. But, not the worst that could of happened, my fault for trying a trick Ive never done before by myself."
Steve laughs, imagining Bucky on a dirt bike. Its an oddly attractive image.
"Mm. Where do you even find enough land to dirt bike out here? My dad had moved us to Oklahoma for his job when I was into it, nothin' but land out there."
Buckys eyes light up.
"You use to ride?" He asks enthusiastically causing another blush to spread over Steves thankfully covered face. Steve nods bashfully. A warmth spreading through him as if he had somehow won something just by the smile he caused on Buckys face.
"I have a place on the out skirts, its about thirty minutes from here, nice and quiet, even dug my own dirt bike track. Pretty proud of it." Bucky says with his chin raised in accomplishment.
"Woah really?!" Steve exclaims. Now he just wants to know who this guy is and what he does for a living if he can afford to do all that. Like, really.
"Yeah, I mean, if you want, you could come out sometime. I have an extra bike." Bucky says with confidence although theres another blush slowly creeping to his face.
Steves heart pounds loudly in his chest, and he really hopes Bucky can't hear it. Steve nods, afraid that if he says anything it'll just come out a jumbled mess.
"Awesome." Bucky smirks and lifts his hips to grab something out of his pocket, the images that flip through Steves mind at such a simple movement is ridiculously wrong. So so wrong.
"Whats your number?" Bucky asks, and Steve thankfully tells him with only a few stutters mixed in. Theres a ding from his pocket, signally a new text, obviously from Bucky so he has his as well.
"STEVE ROGERS. NUMBER 318. STEVE ROGERS.." A bored tone booms over the speaker causing Steve to jump about a foot in the air.
"Aw so soon?" Buckys whines. Steve giggles. He giggles. What is wrong with him.
Steve stands, and looks down at Bucky with a grin.
"See ya around Mr. Rogers." Bucky smirks. Steve starts to turn around when a warm hand wraps around his wrist.
"Hey, uhm. I know its already late and all that but, I probably won't be going to sleep anytime in the next few hours. Maybe wanna grab some breakfast when we're both all patched up? Some one has to be the first to sign my cast." Bucky asks almost nervously but hopeful. And, how is Steve suppose to deny that. WHY would Steve want to deny that.
"Sure." Steve says with a smile. "Call me when you get out yeah?" Bucky returns the smile and releases Steves wrist. Sad at the lost contact.
"Yeah." Bucky replys.
"STEVE ROGERS" The now irritated voice says loudly. Steve sighs, giving Bucky a last smile before walking behind the counter to most likely get at least fifteen stitches in his face, but he can't really be upset at the situation anymore.
Thank god for bar fights, dirt bikes and ERs.