I'm Here | ✓

52 - Peppermint

I wake up warm.

For a guy whose average body temperature is 96.7 degrees Fahrenheit, or 35.9 degrees Celsius, that's pretty impressive.

My head is resting on Steve's legs and my body is half curled up in a chair I pulled close to the bed. Our fingers are laced together in his lap, and I was careful to avoid the IV in the back of his hand. He's still fast asleep, but I relish in his warmth for a few more moments.

Finally, the tension in my back became too much to bear, and I extracted myself off of Steve so I could stretch. I kept my right hand threaded with his and leaned back in the chair. I think back to last night's discussion, and all the memories Steve and I made together over the years; I hope that, since his Hydra and Accords bullshit is all over, we'll have a chance to just be, together.

There's a quiet knock at the door and it cracks open a bit. Sam's face pokes in, glancing between Steve and me. With my free hand, I motion him into the room.

"Hey," he says quietly, holding up a paper bag. "I got you guys some stuff."

He drags another chair next to me and unloads the contents of the bag next to Steve's feet on the bed. There's a gray hoodie with Steve's old starry shield printed on the front, a few pairs of fuzzy socks, a tiny "get well soon" balloon, a book of sudoku puzzles, and a few containers of Jello.

"Why don't you ever do this when I'm in the hospital?" I tease quietly, flipping through his gifts.

"Shut up. Are you okay?" He whispers back, and I drop the banter.

"Save for a few scratches and the overwhelming guilt of it all, I'm fine. I should've done more."

"Maybe we can go for a run later to talk about it. I find that always helps me. Or you could drop by my military support group sometime. We can work through this. If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine, but it's not safe to keep this all to yourself."

"I really appreciate it, seriously. I just want to get all this out of my head."

Sam gives me a genuine smile. "That's what I do best."

Steve mumbles quietly in his sleep and tilts his head, squeezing my fingers tighter. It's not a nightmare, I don't think, but I glance at Sam just to be sure.

He shakes his head. "They must've had a hell of a time operating on him. They can't use a normal drug dose, but how much is too much?"

My eyes flash open and instantly, I'm in pain.

"That is not... Это не должно произойти, верно?" I can barely focus on their words because my eyes are tearing up. I can't move. My limbs and tongue are numb, but my nerves are on fire. There are five men in lab coats, all clustered around me, holding various syringes and bloodied tools. My blood. Oh, my God.

Why didn't I die?

"We used the wrong dose. It's fine. He can't move." One of the men wipes off his tool, gesturing in my general direction. I want to spit in his face, hell, I want to kill him, but I can't bring myself to do anything more than stare in his general direction. Death would be better than this. I'm not a piece of meat to be dissected, but the man starts the tool and starts toward my left arm.

He reaches down and he's cutting, deeper, deeper, and I want to scream as I watch, and the pain is too much -

"Take this," Sam says, holding out his hand. He's tense and nervous. It takes me a few seconds to identify the glimmering rectangle; it's a wrapped piece of gum.