25 Call
That night, Steve wanted to try again. He wanted to be heard and he wanted to be unashamed, like the people at the VA. He wanted to talk and he felt a burning in him, a powerful, painful building, like screaming lungs underwater, but he didn't know what to say or how to say it and he remained in a state of mental turmoil for the entire night, conflicted and truly at war with himself.
And of course, there remained that part of him that so desperately feared talking. That part that told him that he was a burden and he couldn't prove himself because he had nothing good to prove and that part that told him that he had to stay quiet or the people he loved would turn their backs on him. But he tried to remain strong, tried to fight it, tried to learn how to put into words the pain he felt, the way he didn't know how to live and live with himself and live happy. He just didn't know. He was miserable.
Late, late into the night, Steve still couldn't sleep and he still felt suffocating and an overwhelming sense of worthlessness that pierced him right through, back again to sickly Steve, desperate to prove that he was just as good as anyone else. It was exhausting, but he couldn't close his eyes. He felt terrible, he felt that feeling again of wanting it to end and he knew it was at least five in the morning, but he called Bucky.
"'Lo," Bucky mumbled tiredly into the phone.
"I'm sorry, I just feel…," Steve said. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have woken you."
"It's fine, it's fine," Bucky replied. "It's okay. What were you saying? What's wrong?"
"I feel awful," Steve said. "I don't know how else to describe it."
"S'okay," Bucky replied, still slurring his words in tiredness. "I can help you, it's okay."
"Are you sure you're not mad?" Steve said. "It's five twenty-two."
"Wow, I really slept in today, didn't I?" Bucky joked and Steve couldn't smile. "I'm not mad."
"Do you want to go back to sleep?" Steve asked.
"I want you to tell me what's wrong," Bucky said and he paused. "I said I wasn't going to leave you. I meant it."
"You don't deserve to be woken up in the middle of the night," Steve said.
"Steve," Bucky said and his voice grew determined now. "I want you to answer me honestly here. Why did you call me." Steve's throat grew dry and he tried to swallow.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Steve, for the love," Bucky cried.
"I want it to end," Steve admitted finally. "And that scared me." There was a pause on the other end of the phone.
"End," Bucky said. "End end?"
"I should be dead," Steve said. "I was supposed to die."
"How do you figure that?" Bucky asked quietly and Steve found that he didn't know how to explain. How could he tell Bucky that all those years when they both fought tooth and nail for his life, he'd been looking forward to his inevitable death with so much fear, that it should have happened because that was simply the nature of Steve's life and to be alive now was unnatural. He should be dead.
"Do you remember when I was nineteen and everything was killing me?" Steve said quietly.
"Like it was yesterday," Bucky replied hollowly. "Steve, I don't understand, you fought so hard to live then."
"But I could have died," Steve said.
"But you didn't," Bucky said.
"No," Steve said. "No, but I could have. By all accounts, I should have."
"You were stronger than you thought you were," Bucky replied.
"There was a girl we went to school with that died of tuberculosis," Steve said.
"Yeah," Bucky said.
"I was sicker than her on a good day," Steve said.
"That's not true," Bucky said.
"I should be dead," Steve said. "And then, I went to war. Should have died there. Then I crashed a plane into the Arctic. I'm alive and it doesn't make sense. I'm living on borrowed time."
These words, they didn't hurt so bad. Steve knew words that hurt worse, words like, if I had died, I wouldn't be and have been the burden I am to you. Words like, I'm just tired and I fill no purpose in the world and you can be so happy, just you and Natasha. But Steve felt them cling to his heart and sink their claws into his lungs and he wasn't ready to say them, not yet. So he said what he could and felt just a little better, having admitted them, having taken a big, deep breath of air that he hadn't tasted in years, that he wasn't suffocating anymore. And he kept the words that hurt worse and closed them up inside and said to himself, later. Later.
"So you," Bucky said and swallowed. "Do you… Want to be dead, then?"
"No?" Steve said. "Yes? I'm tired. Sometimes, I just want it over, I'm exhausted, but I… I don't know. I feel like I shouldn't be here."
"Okay," Bucky said. "Well, come open the door and let me in and we can talk about this."
"What?" Steve said.
"I'm at your door," Bucky replied. "I walked here. I'm just in sweatpants and a jacket and I'm freezing, open your door."
Steve felt stunned. He hadn't even heard Bucky's shuffling behind the phone. And he suddenly felt a wave of guilt knock him in the chest because he'd gotten Bucky up out of bed, Bucky who didn't sleep much anyway, Bucky who just needed things to be normal and comfortable for once, Bucky who didn't need his whining a boon on his life.
"You shouldn't have come," Steve said.
"I'd like to remind you that I have a metal arm that generates no body heat whatsoever and this hallway might as well be an ice box," Bucky replied. "I know it's a sauna in there and I'm missing out." Steve hurried to the door, his phone still pressed to his face, and unlocked the door and there was Bucky, just as he said, in pajamas, shivering, holding his cell phone. After the guilt, Steve felt the gratitude and he pulled Bucky inside and wrapped him in a hug and Bucky hugged him back fiercely.
"You don't have to be alone," Bucky said to him. "Okay?"
"Okay," Steve said.
"Thank you," Bucky said. "For once letting me help you, thank you." And Steve only squeezed him tighter because he should be saying thank you; he had been so alone and he didn't deserve having this friend who was better than anything Steve could ever ask for. He couldn't speak it. He closed it up inside himself with the words that sunk their claws into his heart and told it quietly, later, settled it in with the rest of the mountains of emotions he couldn't express in words out loud.
Bucky led Steve inside the apartment then, instead of the other way around, shutting the door behind him and walking with Steve back to his bedroom, sitting on his bed with him in the dark. It reminded Steve of years ago, when they lived together and Bucky watched over Steve with a determined and loyal diligence, taking care of him and being just kind enough to leave him his dignity whenever he could. Steve felt the guilt, the guilt that was sucking away his happiness. Further proof that he had been a burden, that he still was burdensome.
"I think you should be here," Bucky said now, sitting on his bed and facing him in the dark, his jacket snug around him and his arms folded loosely around his chest. "And I'm glad you're here."
"But I can't be," Steve said. "I can't be glad about it."
"Why?" Bucky said. "Who do you think resents your survival?"
Don't you? How could you not, I've never been able to be a good friend to you.
Steve fell silent and looked down and took in a breath and then shook his head.
"I don't know," he whispered and rubbed his eyes. "I don't know."
"Well," Bucky said, shifting and looking off at the window. "I'm glad you're here. I'm glad enough for the both of us. I'm glad enough for anyone who might think differently, as freaking wrong as they would be." Steve didn't know what to say and he turned around and swung his legs down to the floor and leaned over his knees and put his face in his hands. Bucky was quiet for a moment before he moved and stood up off the bed, looking down at Steve. "You need to lay down," he said and Steve looked up at him. "Come on, lay down. Stop thinking this garbage, alright, just try to sleep, okay?"
"Don't leave," Steve begged before he could stop himself.
"I'll be right here," Bucky said reassuringly and then he sat down on the other side of the bed again and stole himself a pillow from Steve's side. "Just don't you dare roll over on me or I'll shove you right off the bed," he threatened playfully, trying to lighten the mood, trying to offer Steve a smile and Steve felt such relief wash over him because for once, he wouldn't be alone in the dark all night. He would be okay. It was as though a weight was lifted off his shoulders and Steve collapsed onto his side of the bed.
They both lay there in the dark and Steve didn't know about Bucky, but he still couldn't sleep and finally, after a while, he couldn't be sure whether it was a minute or an hour, he turned to Bucky's dark form, still and just inches away from him, and tried to speak.
"I'm sorry I let you fall," Steve whispered hoarsely and Bucky rolled over and studied him, the both of them made out of sadness.
"I forgive you," he said back.
"Okay," Steve said.
"Sleep," Bucky said.
"Okay," Steve said again and laid on his back and looked at the ceiling.
Bucky slept after an hour or so, curled up tightly on the other side of Steve's bed, his arms wrapped around his torso like he was trying to hold everything in, his knees up close to him and he looked tense, even in sleep, but his face was relaxed and Steve watched through the night as he slowly let go and relaxed entirely until he was sleeping so soundly that Steve could hear his slow breaths and he was sprawled across Steve's mattress, his legs out and his arms lax across the sheets. And Steve sat there almost the entire night, contemplating how Bucky saved him then and saved him now, had always saved him, had come back from the dead to save him until Steve felt so tired that his eyes stung and he finally sunk into sleep, comfortable for once. Not alone for once. Feeling safe, feeling loved, feeling almost happy and so entirely relieved. Feeling so close to being saved, being dragged out of the alley again because this time, he didn't have the other guy on the ropes, this time, the other guy was himself and he was taking a real hit. But Bucky was coming and Bucky would save him.
And it was the best sleep Steve had gotten in weeks.