It wasn’t uncommon for the small Steve to come down ill, he did so very often. At this point it seemed like every other week he was on the verge of death. You assumed that’s what happened when someone had been living off scraps for his entire life.

For a while Bucky was the only person there to take care of him, whisking him to bed, resting a cold towel over his head and ensuring he was covered in blankets. Even if they both put their money together they couldn’t afford medicine for Steve.

That’s when you came along, dashing into Bucky’s life like some god sent star. You were sweet and had grown up around doctors and nurses. Your father having been a doctor and your mother having been a nurse in the First World War. It was almost mandatory you follow in their footsteps, and you did. When tensions of another war began to blossom around the world you shipped yourself off to nursing school to be ready to become a war nurse yourself.

But years passed and America still hadn’t joined the war, instead dealing with more financial issues than war issues.

One day you got a frantic call on your house phone, Bucky’s panicked voice coming over from the other line. “I-I don’t know what happened- I can’t get his fever down..”

You managed to calm him down, throwing on your clothes and snagging a few of your dad’s old medicine from his room before running through the streets of Brooklyn to get to their house. By the time you entered Steve was knocked out in bed, a stack of blankets over him and a bucket of water and a cloth to his side. Bucky looked as if he hadn’t slept in days, the worry evident on his face.

“Please.. I don’t know what to do.” He pleaded softly, gently leading you over to Steve’s bedside.