Run (A Bucky Barnes Recovery Story)

77 Burning

Steve spent a few days in the hospital before they sent him home. He had two major bullet wounds in his chest and one less critical one in his side. He had a lot of pain medication and a lot of ice and a lot of gauze and all he could think as he lay first in his hospital bed and then in his bed at home was thank heavens it wasn’t Bucky.

Bucky was there when Steve woke up and he was there when Steve went home and he took care of him silently. Natasha was there sometimes too and she’d smirk at him and tell him that he would be okay and he’d try to make a smart remark back, but sometimes, the pain medication dulled him and he would just nod.

And Bucky would be in the corner, silent and staring off again, waiting for something that needed doing, like helping Steve eat or stand up out of bed. He had taken to not saying much and Steve didn’t know why, so when Natasha left, Steve asked him.

“You’re so quiet lately,” Steve said. “You know, I actually have been shot before. I’m going to live.” Bucky, in a chair across the room, leaned over his knees and looked at the ground.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that, too,” he said quietly. Steve looked at him.

“This wasn’t your fault,” he said. Bucky looked up at him and took a deep breath before looking back down and rubbing his eyes.

“I guess I’m quiet because I don’t have a lot to say,” Bucky said finally. “To be honest, there’s not a lot of me left. You’re the only thing I have anymore.” Steve looked at him and took this in.

“I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve said and Bucky tried to smile, tried to shrug. His eyes looked empty.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “‘Cause it wasn’t your fault.” Then, he added in a voice so quiet he might have thought Steve hadn’t heard, “I just wish I could be anyone else.” Steve watched him warily push his hair back from his face, then stop and put his whole face in his hands. Steve closed his eyes. Bucky was always so grief-stricken. He wasn’t sure how to make him happy. He didn’t know how to fix things for Bucky, not when everything always went so disastrously wrong.

A few hours later, Bucky spoke again.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, his voice breaking the silence. Steve shifted uncomfortably.

“I told you I’m gonna live,” he said. Bucky looked up and his eyes were intense.

“I said how are you feeling,” he repeated himself and Steve stared at him and wasn’t sure how to respond until the words began to tumble out of him.

“I just can’t tell you,” he said. “I can’t tell you, I have to be strong for you.”

“Well stop it,” Bucky replied and then he swallowed and cocked his head and spoke again. “Remember when I called you in the middle of the night and you sat up and listened to me?” Steve nodded. “Let me return the favor. I’ve seen you… I’ve seen you suffer, Steve. How can I be your friend if you don’t, if we don’t… Talk?”

“What do you want me to talk about?” Steve asked and Bucky stared at him. Steve could see in Bucky when he felt the most inhuman. There was a deadness in his eyes that was most certainly there now. Steve only wanted to help.

“Tell me why you apologize,” Bucky said. “You can’t apologize for something that’s not your fault.” Steve sighed and looked at the ceiling.

“But no,” he said. “No, it is. It all is. It always is.”

“How,” Bucky said and Steve already felt exhausted, trying to explain himself. He found he didn’t like talking about it. Pain he’d hidden so long only hurt worse exposed.