Sweetheart, | winterfalcon short stories

Empty,

This is a stupid idea, Sam thinks as they get a table at Denny's. It was a long ride to this place, but james liked long boring night drives, and Sam caught a bit of shut eye. Now he has that half asleep haze mixed with the tingling behind his eyes that means he's up, and up for the rest of the day.
They both order coffee.
'Still sleepwalking?' Sam hears himself ask.
'No... I dunno. I haven't slept yet.'
James busies himself with drinking the coffee. He's got dark circles under his eyes, deep creases in his brow. His last shave was days ago, and judging by the ragged hoodie he wore, he probably hadn't showered, either. Sam looks down at his hands wrapped around the warm mug of coffee and presses his lips into a frown.
'What?' James asks. His voice is smooth and nice to hear.
'Nothing.'
'What?'
'You're depressed, man.'
'I'm not depressed. I'm not sad. I'm tired.' James gets defensive so easily that it's damn near impossible to bring up anything with him. Sam doesn't know how Steve can stand it. Maybe they read each other's minds instead of actually talking .
'Yeah baby.' Sam reaches across the table and taps right in front of James. 'That's called depression.'
James doesn't have an argument against that. He doesn't know what it means to be depressed, doesn't know how to put it into words. Except, maybe now he does.
'So what do I do, Doll?'
'Get some help. You got that card, right?'
He knows whose card Sam's referring to. A therapist. one from the VA. He doesn't say anything.
'Just... think about it. For me.'
'Okay.'
Sam knows it's not his place to pressure James into getting off his ass, and now that he's said his piece, he's not sure if it was the right thing to do. The last thing James needs is somebody bossing him around. Let him live .
'Hey, Sam' James says.
'Yeah?'
James looks up from his coffee mug with a sheepish smile. 'It wasn't Barton that hid your wings.'
'Goddammit, Barnes.' Sam's laughing, mostly at himself. 'I knew it. He's gonna kick your ass.'
'Yeah... that's what I was afraid of.'
'I'm gonna kick your ass.'
James quirks a brow at Sam and levels a hard stare at him.
'No, seriously. I am.'
'Uh-huh.'
When the food arrives, James eats like he's never had a meal in his entire life. Sam stares at him for a few seconds. It's a familiar sight. Autobiographical, even.
Getting discharged from the Air Force seemed like forever ago, -and maybe it was, going on ten years- but Sam remembers those first awful days at home. For a few nights, the bed and the quiet let him sleep. Then the silence and the blankets kept him awake.
He'd shut his eyes, and there were explosions and crescendo of incoming missiles. There was Riley and his handsome smile, and then there was no Riley.
And Sam suffered in silence because it's easier that way, easier than explaining to Mama why he's so restless. He's beaten and he's empty and sometimes he's so angry he can't stand it. Mostly, though, Sam is numb.
Through it all, Mama took care of him. Made all his favorite food. On the days he had an appetite, he just ate and ate until he felt sick. At least then he felt something.
James is figuring out the breakfast sandwich on his plate. He takes the thing apart and eats the sausage, egg, cheese, and hashbrowns with a knife and fork and covered in syrup.
'You feel empty,' Sam says.
'Yeah.' He doesn't hesitate. He accepts.
'And when you can't sleep, you eat. Try to fill the void.'
James shrugs, then he nods.
Sam nods, too, because he knows .
'You're right, Sammy,' James says. 'I'm sorry.'
'Don't ever be sorry. Not for that.'
James crinkles his nose. He reaches up and places his gloved metal hand on top of Sam's.
'How do you do it?'
'Do what?'
'Manage.'

The word lingers in Sam's ears and he's confused before he realizes how carefully he's presented himself, to Steve, to James, to everyone. Even when he's open, he's closed off the darkest parts of him. Nights where he wished he was flying near death PJ ops. Falling out of choppers. Ice cold blood drowning his heart with fear and excitement and rage. It's a hard feeling to shake when it comes back to you in the middle of the night in the room you used to sleep in as a kid. How do you explain to Mama you just wanna go jump out of a helicopter on the off-chance you die?
'I don't. I don't manage, Barnes.'
James looks surprised, then his hand tightens around Sam's. 'Oh. Oh, shit, Sammy. I'm a fucking idiot. I'm so sorry.'
Sam's opposite hand squeezes tight, nails pressing into his palms, and he concentrates on that instead of the raw wound James wants to dig into. Suddenly, James's hand on his feels heavy, then James is letting go and Sam reaches for him again. Sam looks into James's eyes and just shrugs. Fuck everyone who thinks he's an expert at this. He isn't. He's just suffered the longest.
'It's okay,' Sam murmurs. Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. Whether or not things were okay changed from day to day. What got him through most days was knowing he got to restart tomorrow.
'If you,' James folds in his lips and Sam swears the guy is being coy. How James remembers how to look so sweet and innocent is beyond Sam. 'If you ever need to talk,' James  half smiles and squeezes Sam's hand. 'I'm here for you.'
Sam shakes his head, can't help but grin. Two years ago, Sam thought Steve should stop searching for James. Leave him on his own. Now that same guy is sitting across from him at a dirty Denny's in the middle of nowhere offering to lend an ear. Sam had Steve for that now, but before Steve, it had been a lonely few years. Sam lowers his eyes to James and says 'Thank you.'

They finish up their meals and leave. James pauses just outside the door by the coin machines. He fishes around in his pockets for coins without any luck. Sam gets out a handful of change from his pocket and holds it out for him. 'Here.'
James smiles, and it's not the biggest or best smile, but it suits the curve of his lips and flashes the whites of his teeth. 'Thanks.'
James gets a bunch of stickers and temporary tattoos and has more of a bounce in his step as he walks with Sam across the parking lot. He pats a sticker onto the front of Sam's shirt that says PRINCESS over a heart, covered in sparkles. Sam laughs and it feels like forever since he's laughed, and he slings an arm around James, trying to get him into a headlock. James jabs his elbow into his side to free himself and they're both laughing and jostling each other until they reach the car. Sam grabs James's hood and flings it over his head, pulling it down over his face. 'Hey!' James shouts, then he retaliates.
James grabs both of Sam's wrists and shoves him up against the restaurant's brick wall. Blue eyes blazing and searching Sam's face for half a second, he springs forward and kisses Sam, pinning him to the building.

The past few weeks had been torture for Sam. he felt as if he hadn't spoken to James for a long time, and the absence felt like his chest had been hollowed out. He felt... empty.
But right now he didn't, and he was damn happy sam was the one that's made him feel okay again, hell, same made him feel alive. He feels like the phrase 'it gets better' actually means something, cuz if this isn't 'better' he doesn't know what is. At least, he doesn't until James tilts his head up and kisses sam. Sam pulls away from James, using his hand to cup James's face and stare into his eyes, he feels James move his hands to pull sam closer to him.

Behind his pressed shut eyelids, James feels at peace, he feels happy It's good to feel this way hell, it's good just to feel.

[1400]