"What'll it be today, Stevie?" Bucky crouched and glanced over their mediocre library -- a stack of ten to fifteen novels from authors of the day.

Steve was sick again, watching him with tired, glazed eyes. Bucky tried not to pity him, but when he looked that sickly, it was hard not to.

"Doesn' matter," Steve answered, voice weak. "Pick one."

"C'mon, Steve," he said with a sigh as he looked at him over his shoulder. "Humour me, okay? Please?"

Steve closed his eyes and huffed out a breath. "Uh, the... do we have anything for Halloween?" He tried to smile a bit.

"You sure you want somethin' scary?" Bucky looked at him, concerned. "I mean... with what's goin' on..."

"I can handle it," Steve protested. "'M not a kid anymore, alright?"

"I know that." Bucky pulled the book out and absently tapped his fingers along the spine. "I just -- you don't need any more scary stories to deal with."

Steve was silent for a second as he looked at him. "You don't have to worry about me," he assured in a quiet voice. Bucky looked up and met his eyes. Steve smiled a little sadly.

"You sure?" Bucky looked desperate as he looked at him, begging him to be okay. Steve's gaze softened and he patted the spot beside him.

"'Course. Now c'mon, I ain't getting any younger," he teased. Bucky smiled and sat next to him. Steve didn't say anything as Bucky shifted closer and read, until one arm was around his shoulders and Steve was almost falling asleep against him.

As Bucky turned the page, Steve bit his lip. "Hey," he said quietly. "Thanks, Buck. For doin' this."

Bucky smiled and nodded once. "Of course, Stevie. I ain't leaving you, okay?"

Steve smiled and closed his eyes. "Okay."