carry - for bucky @cptsrogers
@cptsrogers -- nonverbal starters
carry pick them up
In the back of his mind, he’d known it was a stupid idea, but he wanted so badly for Steve to have something normal. Buck was always getting asked for pick-up games, his natural athletic prowess always making him everyone’s first choice. Everyone ignored Steve. Usually, Bucky made excuses--and half the time, he wasn’t lying, he really did have to work or take care of his siblings or help Steve. But sometimes he did it just so Steve wouldn’t feel left out. This time, though, he was in between jobs and his mother was at home, and Steve had looked so defiant as he told him to go on, he had almost seemed angry. Like it was insulting to him for Buck to refuse. But Bucky stuck his hands in his pockets and rounded on the group of teens, offering his own terms.
“Steve plays catcher.”
It was the least physically taxing--no running, only a short throw back to the pitcher, all he had to do was catch the ball. Steve was sick and had poor eyesight but his hand-eye coordination was pretty good, if his drawings were anything to go by. The other boys looked at one another like they’d rather eat dirt, but Bucky was the cool fella, the one they wanted to impress, and if he dragged his invalid sidekick into this, well, they supposed they could put up with it. They made a few jokes about Rogers falling over before the first pitch and were generally abusive in their behavior, but begrudgingly agreed to Bucky’s terms.
It lasted all of three pitches.
Bucky could see it happening, and his heart dropped through his stomach. Steve wasn’t gasping for air, but he was swaying in his crouch and shaking his head, and one hand kept scrabbling at his scrawny chest. The arrhythmia. Or the palpitations. Or the remnants of the rheumatic or scarlet fevers--it didn’t really matter the cause. It was his heart. More dangerous than his asthma because there wasn’t a goddamned thing Bucky could do about it and it could kill Steve just as quickly.
“Game’s over,” he said.
The boys protested and started to swear at him, but he stopped them with a look.
“I said game’s over.” He all but hurled the bat back to one of them. “Get out of here.”
They looked at each other, looked at Bucky, and one spit at his feet. “Tell him to go home. We’re not the ones about to pass out. Besides, he should be put down with the rest of them,” the boy said.
It was a good thing Bucky still didn’t have the bat. The squabble didn’t last more than a few punches and crossed words and the boys were running off, and Bucky was right by Steve’s side.
Oh shit, oh shit, this is my fault, it’s my fault. His eyes were wide with panic, and he helped ease Steve from a crouch into sitting down on the grass. He shouldn’t have pushed him. He should’ve just left at the beginning. He should have known better, been better, taken better care of him.
Steve held one hand to his chest and was taking great deep breaths, his features twisted in pain. The sun was slipping down below the horizon, and Bucky had to make a choice. Did he go get Sarah? Did he take Steve home?
“’m okay,” Steve said, sounding anything but. “Just need...a breather.”
Bucky looked around as if he expected the answer to fall from the sky, one arm still around Steve’s shoulders. Brooklyn City Hospital wasn’t far from here. Making an executive decision, he slid his other arm beneath Steve’s knees and lifted him up. It always unsettled him how light Steve was. Bucky had hauled potato sacks that weighed more.
“Put me down,” Steve said.
“I’m sorry, pal, no can do.” He sounded so much calmer than he felt, his own heart thudding in his throat. God, what he’d give to trade places right then, to give Steve just some of his health. He never even got colds. He began half running toward the hospital.
“I’m so sorry, Steve, I shouldn’t have--I should’ve thought about it,” he said. A terrible thought crossed his mind, and he held Steve a little tighter. “Just a little farther, okay? Hang in there.”
Steve’s face was bright red and he looked like he wanted to die, and not just from the chest pains, so Bucky took the chance of sticking to back alleys instead of the main roads. He knew this embarrassed Steve, but he had to fix it. He had caused this by being stupid, and if anything happened--
A half block from the hospital, Bucky gingerly set Steve on his feet. He crouched down to keep one arm around his waist to help him into the hospital. Your fault, your fault, your fault. If anything happens to him, you caused it. Goddammit, Barnes, you idiot.
The nurses took Steve immediately back, which caused both relief and terror in Bucky, and he paced in the waiting room watching the clock. He should get Sarah, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Finally, they allowed him to go back, and he found Steve with tubes in his arms and looking pale but less deathly than before.
“Hey Buck,” Steve said.
“Yeah?”
“You missed all three pitches. You’re really bad at baseball.”
