Our Own War ~ A Stucky Fanfiction

Chapter 1

"Bucky, you can't tell me that you think it's fine that I'm taking up all your time. Seriously, you were going to go out with..." he paused for a moment, thinking, "Dotty tonight. The two of you would have had a grand old time. You really don't have to worry so much."

    James B. Barnes sighed, running a hand over his face, a small chuckle slipping from his lips as his friend persisted. Steve was always so sure he could handle himself. As Bucky took his hand from his face, he looked down at Steve, the boy perched on the side of his bed. He was nursing his arm, and the skin around his left eye was beginning to darken. Steve looked up to see the way the other was looking at him, and furrowed his brow. "Don't give me that." He muttered, causing Bucky to smile softly.

    "What? Give you what?"

    "That pity look. You do that everytime you pull me out of a fight." Steve paused, wanting to word it correctly. "Your eyes get all soft and you pull on this fake little smile, like you're trying to tell me that I'll be fine, but it's not going to happen."

    Bucky laughed, although it was a bit defeated, he could tell Steve was right. He usually was about these kinds of things.

    "And then- when you realize what you're doing, you run a hand through you hair and you shift about and you smile becomes even more fake." Bucky's face fell, because he had just done exactly what Steve had described. Did he really do that all the time?

    Steve grinned widely, momentarily forgetting about his damaged arm. "See? Every time."

    Despite being informed of something he did in almost a schedule, Bucky had to smile back at Steve. It was hard, extremely hard, not to. With the smaller boy's bright eyes and the little tuft of hair that forever seemed to be falling into them. Bucky thought of the littler boy as something so much more than a friend. A brother, maybe. It made sense. They lived together, practically shared everything in the tiny big city apartment. And the two were constantly looking out for each other. Bucky, for Steve physically, and Steve, for Bucky mentally. It was a comfortable relationship. In fact, Bucky didn't think he cared for anyone as much as he did Steve.

    At that moment, Steve adjusted himself on the bed, and winced hard as his arm moved into a position of discomfort. Bucky stood, wearing a bit of a worried expression. "I'll get you more ice." He stated, stepping through the doorframe and into the kitchen and living center. His face fell slightly as he knew Steve could no longer see him. It hurt to know that even though Steve knew he was a small, unbuilt, fragile being, he still insisted in getting all banged up if he was fighting for something he believed in. Bucky looked up to him for that, that he never gave up. But it didn't stop him from frowning and fussing over Steve after he pulled him from an alley fight, frantically wrapping fabric of his own clothes around Steve's bloodied body. He was Bucky's responsibility. He had promised himself that. And he wasn't about to let Steve get severely hurt when he should be looking out for him.

Bucky stooped down, opening their tiny fridge and biting his lip at the small breeze that barely hit him. He would be lucky if there was a single icecube left.

To his relief, there was a handful or so of ice that he could scoop into a towel and bring back to Steve.

    "Buck?" He could hear Steve's soft voice echo through the thin walls, and he stood up, sighing and hurrying the ice back to the boy. Hopefully it could help Steve's arm before it melted completely. Steve smiled softly as Bucky re-entered the room, and took his good arm away from his damaged one for a moment to pat the spot in the bed next to him.

    Bucky nodded, and sat, slipping the towel and ice under Steve's elbow, wincing as Steve cringed at the change in temperature.

    "I'm sorry, there's not much. I'm not sure it'll help..." He mumbled, fumbling his fingers back into his lap, so not to brush them somewhere that might hurt Steve.

    Steve shook his head, giving his a small look of disbelief. "Why are you apologizing? Buck do you have any idea what I would deal with if you weren't around? I owe you my life."

    Bucky's face flushed a light shade of pink at Steve's words. He hated when Steve talked about things like this. He hated thinking about what Steve would be like on his own, without Bucky, aimlessly wandering the streets of New York City, getting into fights and desperately looking for some way to heal himself. Steve wasn't built for a gang life. He wasn't built to be tough, cruel, ruthless, like others that had nowhere to go. That's why it worried Bucky when he came home and Steve was missing. That's why he would scour the streets into the night for a short and tired looking boy, with fierce eyes and scraggly hair.

    "Don't say that." The words slipped from his mouth almost silently, and Steve looked over at him, eyebrows furrowed.

    "Why not?" He asked, tilting his head slightly. "Bucky it's true. I'm so lucky to have you."

    "Damn it Steve, just shut up." He answered, a glimmer of a smile spreading on his lips. "I don't need your praise. It's my job to take care of little Stevie." Bucky was joking now, obviously.

    Steve wrinkled his nose and huffed, rolling his eyes in a way to show fake exasperation. "I'm not that small." He muttered.

    "Awe, shut up, you." Bucky laughed, pulling Steve down by his good shoulder and lying down with him on the old sheets.

    And the two were silent. Just lying there as the sun went down, content with the sounds of the other's heavy breathing.