52 Bruises
I cannot believe I didn't post this yesterday. I uploaded it into my document manager and then never did anything else. I'm sorry! And if I had the time and the material to properly make up for it, I would! I hope you can enjoy this anyway!
Sam was sitting in the corner when Steve woke again. Steve grimaced in pain as the medications were wearing off and tried to mutter a polite hello. Sam looked over with his quiet, unassuming smile that suddenly felt forced and leaned over into Steve.
"Hey," he said quietly. "How are you feeling?"
Steve didn't know how to respond. He wasn't feeling good.
"Fine," he said and Sam sat back.
"Yeah, you look fine. Hey, wanna hear a joke, I've got a good one," Sam said and Steve almost smiled.
"What," he said.
"What's red, white and black and blue?" Sam asked and Steve was already grinning and starting to laugh.
"Let me guess," Steve said as he laughed. "Is the answer 'Captain America'?" Sam smiled and laughed and Steve treasured the brightness in his eyes.
"That was too easy," he said and Steve just grinned. There was a lull then in the conversation and Steve's smile fell and he looked back down to where he could see that black and blue up and down his own arms and torso, and the beginnings of red burns where the gauze across his chest was starting to loosen and he felt the happiness start to slip away.
It was ethereal, happiness, and Steve didn't think it was even attainable anymore. It was like smoke. He could see it in front of him, but as soon as he reached out his hands, he went right through. All that was really real, all that Steve really knew, was grounding and sinking sadness. He was sick of it, sure, but he didn't know how to hold and keep the happiness. Like the smile that fell off his face as soon as the room went quiet, happiness just came and went too quickly and sometimes, it seemed like the work and price required to enjoy it was just too high. Steve didn't have anything to give anymore in the pursuit of happiness. He was all out.
"I thought," Steve started, just talking, not necessarily to Sam, not necessarily to himself, just putting words out there because the sadness in the silence was too acute. "I thought I was getting… A little bit better. I guess I was wrong." Sam was quiet for a moment.
"No," he said. "No, don't tell yourself that."
"If I had made any progress," Steve said and stared forward. "Any at all, I wouldn't be here today."
"That's not true," Sam protested and he reached out and touched Steve's bruised hand and Steve winced and Sam frowned. "Relapses are a part of getting better. It means you're getting closer." When Steve didn't respond, Sam continued. "Happens to everyone, okay? Everyone, even me. It's just a part of improvement, I promise. And they'll become fewer and fewer as you get better and better and maybe one day, you won't ever feel this way again, but don't let yourself believe that because you slipped one time, you haven't made so much progress because you have."
"I thought promising Bucky would keep me alive," Steve said. "Not even that."
"Steve," Sam said and his voice grew adamant. "No one is going to keep you alive except yourself."
"I don't think I can do it," Steve replied and Sam swallowed audibly.
"Don't misunderstand me," he said. "You're not doing it alone. You have friends, and people who understand. But you are in control and it's you who calls the final shots. We can walk with you, but we can't make your decisions for you. When you live, it will be because you chose to, okay?"
"Okay," Steve said.
"Now," Sam said and settled back again in his chair. "Let me ask again. How are you feeling?" Steve felt the shape of 'fine' on his lips, but he swallowed it away.
Breathe, breathe, breathe
Ready
Set
Breathe
"Like I'm sick of death and sick of being scared of death and sick of thinking I should be dead," Steve whispered.
"Good," Sam replied. "Good, be sick of it. One day, you won't ever have to deal with it again."
A few hours later, Sam stood and had to leave and he stopped at the door and looked back at Steve, who's pain medicine was again beginning to kick in, and he spoke.
"You're a good guy, Steve, and you deserve to live," Sam said. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
"Kay," Steve said sluggishly, but the words meant a lot to him and even though he was feeling sleepy and slow, he tried with every facility to apply them.
"And by anyone," Sam clarified, holding the door open now. "That includes yourself." Steve swallowed and blinked slowly. He nodded.
"Okay," he whispered back and then Sam was gone.