Sick - Steve
ʙʀᴏᴏᴋʟʏɴ, 1930ꜱ
“For fuck’s sake, Steve. You’re sick. Now sit your ass down.” Bucky sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. The three of you, you, Bucky, and Steve, had been a trio since practically birth. You’d helped each other through a lot. Bucky always had his sights set on some beautiful lady, and your sights were set on Steve. You know, if he’d notice it.
“‘M not sick.” Steve slurred out, and you resisted the urge to laugh. His fever was high, and the pain medication only amplified the effects.
“Steve, you’re burning up and shivering at the same time. Just..at least sit on the couch.” You attempted to bargain with him. “Please? For me?”
“Fine.” He grumbled, plopping down on the couch. You glanced at Bucky, who was looking at you. Bucky shrugged slightly, not sure what to do.
“Thanks. Buck’s gonna go get you some soup, okay?” You sat down next to your smaller friend as Bucky walked a few steps away to the kitchen.
“M’kay.” Steve yawned.
“Are you feeling better? At least, compared to earlier?”
He nodded, still a bit loopy. Bucky came back with a bowl of soup, setting it down on the coffee table. “Eat up, punk.”
After he finished eating, you walked him to his bed, hoping that he wouldn't resist. And he didn’t, opting to quietly lay down. You sat on the edge of the bed, staring into his beautiful blue eyes.
“Stay?” He asked quietly, his small and ice-cold fingers finding their way to yours.
“Course I will, Steve.” Rubbing circles into the back of his hand with your thumbs, you let out a sigh. “I always will.”
He smiled at that. “I like you a lot, Y/n.”
“I like you too. A lot.”
He drifted off to sleep, his hand tucked in yours.
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ɴᴇᴡ ʏᴏʀᴋ ᴄɪᴛʏ, 2016
Steve’s eyes drifted away from his notebook at the faint sound of sneezing. A younger couple, maybe in their early twenties, walked hand-in-hand down the street. A woman and a man, the man significantly smaller than the woman. Steve noticed the way he looked at her, eyes filled with love and admiration. Her eyes were bright and excited, and she looked at him every so often as she talked about something.
They were both dressed in their cold weather clothing, scarves and gloves and hats and jackets. Steve smiled softly, imagining you like that.
The man coughed, more of a wheezing, painful sound. Steve winced. He didn’t have to imagine himself like that. He could remember it clearly, the struggle to breathe, his throat feeling like it had been clawed by a raccoon.
He missed you. He misses you every day. He was lucky to have Bucky back, and he was grateful. But that didn’t stop him from wanting you. Your kind smile, your gentle gaze. The way you made him feel less…less.
But you weren’t coming back. He was sure of it. Hell, he’d found your gravestone. You’d died unmarried, with no children. You’d become a nurse at a children’s hospital, which he'd found out from Natasha searching for information about you online.
Steve felt a pang of sorrow as he watched the couple walk farther down the street. With them, it felt like his past and everything he knew was walking away too. He wished he’d had more time to spend with you, to tell you how he’d really felt about you back then. He yearned for you, to be able to take back all of those times where he could’ve kissed you, yet didn’t. Before he knew it, he’d run out of time to spend with you. He couldn’t replace you. Not with Sharon, or Natasha, or Sam, or even Peggy. In a world full of people, people who idolized and adored him, people who dedicated their lives to collecting his trading cards, he still felt alone.
He truly was a man out of time.