Off Broadway

After watching Steve fumble with his keys for what felt like an agonizingly long time, you huffed and took them out of his hand and unlocked the door yourself. Fisting the key in your hand, you shifted your weight and gently toed at the door. It creaked open and you hobbled your way inside, your arm still firmly around his waist supporting his weight. 

Kicking the door shut behind you, you half dragged Steve into the dark apartment and eased him down onto the only piece of furniture in his tiny living room. 

"There we go." You exhaled, flopping onto the ratty sofa next to him. Steve clenched his jaw as his body was jostled with the force of your flopping. "Oh, I'm sorry." You gave him a sheepish smile. 

"It's okay." Steve returned your smile with a tired one of his own. His brows pinched as a stab of pain wracked his thin frame and he doubled over, gripping his side. "Thanks for helping me home." He tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace. "You don't have to hang around. My friend Bucky has probably been scouring the alleys for me. He'll think to look here sooner or later."

"I'm certainly not leaving you in the dark with a chest of broken ribs on the hope that some other friend is going to show up at some point." Tossing your hat on the sofa, you shook out your hair.  Steve's eyes shone with mirth. 

"I've never seen a skeleton with its ribs in its chest." He smirked despite himself. 

"You know what I mean." You huffed. Steve's smirk again morphed into a grimace as he bit back a groan. Concern clouded your features, and you quickly inspected the small apartment. A single hanging light from the ceiling. Walking to the switch, you flicked it on, and the room was bathed in a dim warm light. 

Other than the sofa, there wasn't much in terms of furniture, but what you did find proved useful. In the small kitchenette was a refrigerator that you swore had been there since the titanic sank, but it still whirred with some semblance of life. Besides that, there was actually a bit of ice in there. That would do for a start. Bundling the ice in a rag you hurried back to Steve. 

"Here." You gently pressed it to his swollen eye and held it there until his hand reached up to take over the job. "It's no steak, but ice will do just as fine a job." 

"Thanks." The tension in his shoulders eased a little and he sank back into the sofa. Kicking off your shoes, you sat on the opposite end of the sofa and curled your legs under yourself as you watched him. Turning his head, he cracked open his good eye and looked at you. "Making sure I don't kick the bucket on your watch?" He offered a halfhearted smile, but it was clear he was exhausted. 

"Gosh, how morbid." You shivered dramatically and smile teasingly. Steve chuckled softly and leaned his head back again. You watched as he closed his eyes and his breathing seemed to even out. He'd fallen asleep. Assured that he was getting some much-needed rest, you crept around the small space looking for something to read to pass the time. You didn't want him to rest for too long, those ribs still had to be tended to. And if he wasn't going to see a doctor, the least you could do would be to bind them. 

You finally came across a paper back, The Hobbit. You'd heard it was supposed to be a good book. Flipping it over, you wiped off the thin layer of dust that had settled on its cover. The spine hadn't even been cracked. You doubted Steve would mind you reading it. Curling back on the couch, you opened to the first page, and apart from raising your eyes every so often to keep tabs on Steve's breathing, you were soon consumed in the world of that Tolkien fellow. 

"Steve!?" The door was flung open, and a tall man came bursting in. 

"Christopher Colomubs!" You exclaimed loudly, jumping off the sofa, the book falling to the floor in your panic. The man froze, eyes wide as he looked first at you then at Steve. Seeing Steve unharmed, the man turned to close the door and leaned against the wood, folding his arms. "I beg your pardon, but might I ask who on earth are you?" You folded your own arms, hoping to look at least a little intimidating. The man's brow rose, and he smirked down at you. 

"I could ask you the same thing, lady." Unfolding his arms, he took off his hat and hung it on the doorknob. "But seeing as I'm a gentleman, I'll go first. James Buchanan Barnes." He extended his hand with a bright smile. "But my friends call me Bucky." Your mind pinged with recognition at that name. Taking his hand you gave it a firm shake. 

"Steve mentioned you." Releasing his hand, you turned to look at the still sleeping man and shook your head. Looking back at Bucky you folded your arms. "When he was trying to convince me to leave him sitting here in the dark with some busted ribs." Bucky snorted. 

"That sounds about right." You glanced back at Steve again. "Don't worry about that one, a train could plow straight through this room, and he'd still be asleep." You glanced back at him again and smirked. 

"Stubborn even in his sleep?" Bucky looked down at you and his lips twitched. 

"So, you picked up on that stubborn streak, huh?" 

"It's hard to miss." It was your turn to snort. Bucky's eyes narrowed slightly, and he looked at you intently. 

"I didn't catch your name, but you look awful familiar." His gears seemed to be turning as he tried and failed to place you. 

"Y/N." You said with a wry grin. "My troupe is doing a gig at that big theater on the of 9th." 

"You're a... singer? Dancer?" 

"Yes." You deadpanned. Bucky's lips twitched again, and his eyes danced. 

"And how on earth did you meet Steve? No offence to Steve, but I don't usually see him hanging out with girls, let alone a dish like you."

"Well, thanks, I guess." You rolled your eyes. Glancing back at Steve, your brows pinched in concern at how shallow his breaths were coming. "He got beat up pretty good by two goons." You looked back at Bucky in concern. "I found him half-conscious in an alley. Bucky's features morphed as his face reddened, and he looked ready to start swinging. 

"Stupid punk. Starting fights he can't finish." He grumbled to himself, running a hand raggedly through his hair. 

"He's more or less okay, I think. My friend Sugar Puss stitched up his face, and I brought him back here. He refuses to see a doctor about his ribs though." 

"Of course he does." Bucky groused, storming over to Steve. "Hey, idiot," he tapped him on the head. Steve started awake and blinked blearily at Bucky. 

"Buck?" he rasped, taking in a breath and coughing. Bucky took a step back and folded his arms, scowling down at him. 

"Wake up genius, we gotta take a look at those ribs." 

"Bucky, I'm fine." Steve rolled his eyes and tried to sit up but fell back in resignation under the weight of Bucky's piercing glare. 

"Come on, Steve, we really need to bind your ribs. Then you can go back to sleep." You rested a hand lightly on his shoulder, and Steve looked from Bucky to you reluctantly and his features reddened. 

"Both of you are ganging up on me?" He grumbled, but acquiesced when you and Bucky eased him off the couch and ushered him into the kitchen and sat him down on the only chair he seemed to own. 

"We're partners in crime now, right Y/N?" Bucky looked at you over Steve's head and winked. You chuckled. 

"You two don't even know each other." He continued his grumbling, but handed you back the cold soggy rag. 

"Why Steve Rogers, I'll have you know Bucky and I go way back, we've known each other what, all of ten minutes?" You teased, throwing the rag in the sink. 

"That's a long time in caretaker of a dumb ass years." Bucky grinned, unable to resist ribbing Steve as he began peeling off his shirt. 

"Bucky, there's a lady present." Steve hissed, shoving away his friends' hands. 

"Who, me?" You began rummaging through the cabinets for some form of first aid kit. 

"In the bathroom." Bucky said, examining Steve's face. Quickly you found what you were looking for at returned to the kitchen. 

"I'll have you know, Slats, that I could skin a deer by myself before I was ten years old, not to mention the fact that I was raised with brothers." Pausing you opened the kit and pulled out a wide roll of gauze. "You haven't got anything I haven't seen a hundred times; I assure you." 

"Did she just call you, Slats?" Bucky looked down at Steve and grinned salaciously. Steve groaned. 

"It's just a nickname." Steve groaned. Bucky clicked his tongue and peeled off Steve's shirt. 

"So now you've got pretty lady friends, and fancy nicknames? What's next, Stevie, gonna start keeping secrets from me?" The combined factors of your presence when his shirt was removed, and Bucky's insistent teasing had Steve again flushing under all the attention. 

"Leave him be." You said quietly, handing the gauze to Bucky. 

"Okay, okay." His features grew serious as he examined Steve's ribcage. "You really should see a doctor, Steve." Steve winced when Bucky gingerly touched the deeply bruised skin. 

"No." He clenched his jaw stubbornly. Bucky's eyes flashed, but he bit his tongue and made quick work of tightly binding his ribs. You again offered a steadying hand on his shoulder for support. Against his best intentions, Steve ended up resting his head against your arm, and you caught the fleeting end of a stifled whimper as he willed himself to remain silent. 

"Done." Bucky looked at his ashen friend and then at you. The two of you shared a look of concern before you stepped back and Bucky helped Steve pull his shirt back on. "You're filthy, Rogers." Bucky stood to his full height. "But we'll deal with that later." 

"Thanks, Buck." Steve smiled wearily and glanced back at you. "Thanks, Y/N." You smiled thinly and nodded before you and Bucky again hoisted him up, this time lugging him into the tiny bedroom and lowering him gently onto the twin sized mattress. Before his head hit the pillow, Steve was dead to the world. 

"Stubborn punk." Bucky ruffled his hair affectionately and looked over at you. "You, okay?" Exiting the bedroom, you flopped back onto the couch with a heavy sigh. You didn't need a mirror to tell you that you must look a wreck yourself. It had been a long day, and it was proving to be an even longer night. 

"Honestly? I'm exhausted." You sounded weary even in your own ears. Bucky leaned against the door frame and stuffed his hands into his pockets. 

"The dumb ass is gonna be out for at least the next day." He looked around the dingy apartment. "Steve's instant coffee is shit. I can swing by in the morning and check on him. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?" You opened one eye and looked at him. 

"I can't imagine any where's open this late." 

"There's a diner around the corner. It's a dive, and the coffees not great, but they're open till 3." Bucky shrugged. "I've been running all over the city looking for the little punk, and you've been playing nurse nightingale for half the night, we've earned a break." You cracked a smile. 

"It'd be even better if the coffee had something stronger in it." You yawned.

"Oh, I've got just the thing." Bucky winked and pulled away from the wall and began rummaging through Steve's cabinets. You sat up and watched him curiously. "Found it." He turned towards you with a triumphant smile and brandished a silver flask. 

"Emergency liquor?" You quirked a brow and smirked. 

"I keep a spare in case I have to stitch him up, brandy takes a little of the edge off." 

"I'd classify this as an emergency." Your tone lightened a bit. 

"So would I." His grin widened and his eyes warmed. Standing you grabbed your hat and rescued the forgotten book off the floor. Bucky pocketed the flask and noticed the book in your hand. 

"I think you're the first person in this apartment to actually open that dumb book." He came to stand next to you and gestured to the paperback. 

"Have you read it?" You glanced up at him and offered it to him. Bucky took it and ran his thumb over the spine. 

"I'm the one who bought it." He sighed. "Should've known he'd use it as a paper weight, or a door stop." 

"It was collecting dust." You said with an amused smile. Bucky shook his head and flipped through the pages. "It's not a bad book." 

"I didn't think so." He closed the book and looked at you. Several moments passed and he handed it back to you. "Keep it." 

"Oh, I couldn't," You prevaricated, but from the way you clutched it, it was clear that you wanted to accept it. Bucky smiled warmly. 

"It's just collecting dust here, might as well give it to someone who actually appreciates it." 

"Well... thanks." 

"Ready to make tracks?" Bucky held the door open. Pocketing the book, you headed out the door, clamping a hand down over your hat protectively. Bucky shoved his own over his head and closed the door, locking it. "Did you listen to War of the Worlds?" He looked down at you as you walked and pulled up his coat lapels. 

"Oh, boy, did I!" Your voice became more animated. Bucky's features matched your own enthusiasm. 

"What did you think of it?" 

"Oh, no, that's a deep question, and no though provoking conversation until you get some coffee into me, Mr. Barnes." 

"Call me Bucky."

"Okay, Bucky."