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Bucky is losing it.
He was on a much needed and much overdue trip home to Indiana, visiting his mom and sisters. Steve stayed behind to work on commissions, and there was a conference he had to go to. Which is fine. It's good to spend some time apart. And Bucky was going to take the opportunity to tell his mom he and Steve moved on in their relationship, i.e. they were no longer just friends and Steve had been living with him for the better part of a year. It's not that he didn't want to tell her, it's just. She can be a bit much. So can his sisters. All the Barneses, really. It's an unfortunate trait. One Steve makes sure to remind Bucky he too inherited.
So Bucky was going home, spending time with his family, and dropping the news that he and Steve were now an item, after years of subtle nudging from his mom and not-so-subtle nudging from Becca. And Lilly. And Izzy.
Of course, he didn't get to drop the news yet — mostly because he was planning on doing it as he was stepping through airport security for his flight back to New York — but more so due to the fact that Nat called him two days into his trip and told him Steve was in the hospital.
Because he was in a car accident.
Because he just can't catch a fucking break.
And neither can Bucky.
So he had a small (big) panic attack about it, which only ebbed a bit as he remembered Nat told him she already booked him the first flight back, and he hastily piled all his clothes into his suitcase, ran (tripped) down the stairs, flustered his way through a hasty goodbye to his family, and made his way outside. He quickly realized he had no way of getting to the airport, and flinched when Becca appeared at his side as soon as this thought entered his head, car keys in hand. She drove him, and held his hand the whole time, and stayed with him until she absolutely couldn't, and then he was on a plane.
That was twelve hours ago.
Now, though? Now his panic is back at full force, and he's pacing in the hospital lobby, and they won't let him in, fucking Christ.
So, yeah, he's losing it.
"This is bullshit!" he yells angrily for about the fifteenth time, kicking the nearest chair for the twelfth. Steve had already gotten out of surgery by the time Bucky barreled his way into the hospital and onto his floor. And no matter how many times he yelled or pleaded with the nurses, they wouldn't let him in. Because he wasn't family. And Steve was still in recovery and no visitors and especially people who aren't blood family and just rowdy boyfriends because we're not gonna say we're homophobic but we're thinking it and sit down, sir, or we'll make you leave.
Thankfully, Nat came to his side, spewed some overly saccharine bullshit at the nurse and tugged Bucky down the hall. She couldn't stop him from glaring, though.
"You need to calm down, James," she says now, trying to get him to sit back in the chair he kicked. "We need to wait until he's moved from post-op. The doctors already said the surgery was successful."
"I don't care," Bucky spits, fists clenched. They come to tug at his hair. "God! This is — fuck. I should've been here — he would've never — I need to see him," his voice cracks, and next thing he knows he's crying, sobbing, losing it, and Nat's arms are around him, and that makes Bucky lose it even more, because Nat is not the one for physical affection and comfort, and fuck, this is bad, this is really bad, Steve's in a hospital bed with broken ribs and a concussion and a punctured lung and a bruised collarbone and Bucky wasn't there and —
"Shh, shh," Nat starts, tucking his head into her neck. "He's okay. I'm sorry. He's alright. He's recovering. You're here now. Shh. I'm sorry." Her voice is soft and gentle, and it's unlike anything Bucky's ever heard. Usually her protection involves bared teeth and hard looks, with only gentle presses of her fingers to the insides of his wrists, but this is all careful and considerate and tender. Bucky is really lucky to have her, he knows this already, but it hits him again, right now, just how grateful he is to have Nat in his life.
He clings to her, body racking with sobs. Everything is tight, yet it feels like there's a giant hole in his chest, growing deeper with every second. More concave, everything crumbling inside, right at that spot that's held for Steve, where everything he is has stitched those parts of Bucky together and kept them that way. And now.
Bucky wasn't fucking there.
Natasha's words register with him somewhat. Steve is okay, he's recovering, surgery went fine, he's okay. But. Bucky can't settle this ache, this jitter to his heart. He can't be okay until he knows Steve is. Until he sees him. Sees him and stays by him and doesn’t leave his side ever again. Bucky spent too many nights when Steve was younger and smaller worrying; too many nights fretting over if that day he spent with Steve would be his last, and even when Steve's mom would call and tell him "He's alright, sweetheart. His fever broke, he's just resting now. You can see him tomorrow, dear," it wouldn't do anything until Bucky saw with his own two eyes, until Steve was yammering about the Mets game or something that happened in art class, and Bucky could breathe again, because he knew that Steve could, too.
Neither of them took one breath in the week following Sarah's death. Bucky didn't leave Steve's side for a month, then. They were just friends then, too.
But that was five years ago. They've changed a lot since then. Steve grew, bigger, healthier, and stronger; his art improved, he picked up more gigs and jobs, enough that he and Bucky could comfortably split rent between themselves and have a comfortable cushion of savings. Bucky's been interning at museums and working at coffee shops and it's been good. He's happy. Because that's changed too: he and Steve have only grown closer, stronger together because they finally got over themselves (Sam's words) and moved on and moved in and they've been dating for a little over two years now but Bucky's been with Steve for almost all his life. All his life that counts has counted with Steve.
And Bucky wasn't there when Steve needed him most.
Nat pulls back, rubbing her small hands over Bucky's shoulders. She brings one up to his cheek, patting it lightly. Gripping his chin between her fingers, she makes him look at her. As if he could see through these tears.
She smiles warmly at him. Its unfamiliarity is actually more comforting than Bucky thought it would be. He knows it's real. "Let's wait for Steve, huh? He knows you're coming. Knows you would follow him anywhere. You know that, too. He's alright, probably trying to fight his way to consciousness so he can see you," she adds, and Bucky snorts.
"I wouldn’t put it past him," someone else says, and Bucky looks up to see Sam, some water bottles in his hand. "Hey, man," he says to Bucky, handing him a bottle. "They should be moving him soon."
Bucky nods, shakily and a mess, but he does. And tries to take a deep breath. Takes a sip of water and smiles at both of them. It's a start.
And then that goes to hell.
Because there's a crowd moving towards them, doctors and nurses around a bed, rolling it to a new room. And Bucky knows without even fully looking that that's Steve, and he almost loses it (again) and he starts yelling his name, and they're telling him to step back, please, sir, step away from the patient and Steve hasn't been a patient for so long, Bucky's brain short-circuits and he's really losing it now. He knows he's hysterical, but he just needs to see him for God's sakes, and catches a glimpse of Steve's face, all bruised and pale, and it's not — no — Bucky can't stand it, he needs to see more, but there's more yelling, and Sam's hands on his arms and Nat's voice in his ear but all he can see is Steve, whose face scrunches up a little at all the commotion, and Bucky's yelling his name again, and he sees Steve open his eyes, those beautifully clear blue eyes, but then he's being shoved away and Steve's being rolled away and. And.
Long story short, they kick him out of the hospital.
Bucky is not happy about.
Neither is Natasha, seeing as she has to be the one to make sure he gets home, and stays there. Bucky is fuming when he walks in the door.
"You really didn't need to punch that doctor, James," she says, handing him a bag of onion rings from their freezer for his hand. "And you guys need to up your vegetable selection," she comments.
Bucky takes the bag, pressing it to his knuckles, slumping onto the counter. "He really didn't need to put his hands on me," he counters. "And stop calling me James." He doesn’t need to look up to know she's rolling her eyes at him.
It's silent for a few moments, Bucky adjusting and readjusting the bag on his hand, trying not to look like a pouty child. Not that he's sure it's working, since he refuses to look up at Nat.
"James," she starts. Huffs when he still doesn't look up. "Bucky," she tries, putting a hand on his. He meets her eyes, reluctantly. "You know it's not your fault, right? There's nothing you could've done. Some idiot just ran a red light; other pedestrians got hurt, too. It was just an accident."
"No, I know," he says, nodding, shaking his head, anything to distract him for a few moments. He takes a few deep breaths. "It's not — I know it was just an accident. But I still should've been here."
"Bucky —"
"Steve's been in the hospital nearly ten times, now. And every time, I would be there. As soon as he was admitted, I would be there, waiting, or in his room if they'd let me. I always got to see him. Even when he was just sick at home. I'd be there. And if I couldn't be there right away — his house or the hospital — he had his mom, but now —" He stops. Sighs. "He's been in the hospital too many times, and he's been alone too many times, and. And I don’t want it to happen again. I need to be there."
Nat squeezes his hand and laces her fingers through his. "He knows you'll always be there for him. No doubt about that." He smiles at her, and she smiles back.
Then she slaps him upside the head.
"Don't be a dipshit, Barnes. You're not the only one in his life who cares about him, you know. And you're not totally responsible for taking care of him. Sam, Clint, and I were all there today, as soon as possible. And we stayed the whole time, because Steve is our friend, too. I know none of us will ever have that weird psychic bond you guys have, but you're not alone in this, okay? Neither of you are. That's what friends are for. Idiot."
"You have a really interesting way of delivering pep talks," he comments, and she levels him with a look. He grins. She starts to smile, too. "Thanks, Nat. I — you're right, I'm sorry. Thank you guys, really."
"Good," she squeezes his hand again.
"I'm not sorry for punching that doctor though, full offense. He deserved it." He sits up, grinning at her more.
"This is why you get kicked out of places, you know," she says dryly, taking her hand away and leaning back. He shrugs. "Okay, I'm going to head back now so I can keep giving you the minute-by-minute updates you'll be begging for," she starts, standing upright. "You sure you'll be alright here by yourself? I'll have Clint come keep you company later."
"Yeah. Thanks, Nat," he agrees. He doesn't dare ask why she doesn't just stay here and Clint stay there, because he already knows the answer: she's worried about Steve, too, and needs to be there almost as much as Bucky does. "You gotta teach me this whole 'composed' thing you got going for you," he says, walking her to the door. "Maybe I'll stop getting kicked out of places."
She hugs him goodbye, giving him a kiss on the cheek as she parts. "You're not Russian, you couldn't possibly pull it off. Your Italian genes cursed you," she says, opening the front door.
"I'll make sure to call my grandma and blame her for all of this," he says. He waves at her, and then she's gone, door closing.
~~
Three fucking days.
Bucky has to sit (read: pace restlessly) in their apartment for three whole days before Steve gets discharged. Nat and Sam called him plenty of times, FaceTimed him so he could see Steve, texted him updates not nearly as frequently as Bucky would've liked, but still enough. Clint spent Saturday with him, making sure Bucky didn't drown in his wallowing. Which is kind of hard to do when you're babysitting a five-year-old man-child. So all-in-all it was a good plan.
He got a text on Sunday that read: can't believe you punched a doctor for me and I missed it. that's so hot <3.
He snorted upon reading the message, sniffing some. Tears welled of their own accord, and Bucky was actually grateful he was alone.
if they ever let me back in there i'd be happy to do it again for u. know how u love a show, he sent back, fingers shaking so much he had to retype it all about four times.
Not as much as I love you, Steve replied. The sap. Really buck, I'm fine. See you soon? I'm itching to get out of this hospital gown.
nat will be sad to hear that ;), Bucky typed back, vision clearing a little. love you sm. pls don’t ever get run over again while im in indiana
Okay only when youre in ny from now on :p
fuckin punk watch ur mouth or you'll be back in that hospital bed before u know it
Sure buck :)
<3
That was Sunday. On Monday, Bucky went out and bought Steve some art supplies — new pencils, and a big sketchpad, some new oil pastels — and the box set of Lost; incentives to keep him occupied, because if Steve even tries to get off their couch, Bucky will break his legs, too. He should've bought duct tape, too. He also got Steve a giant tub of caramel corn, but that might've been for him, too, he has no shame in admitting that. He's stressed.
Today is Tuesday. He hasn't slept, and he doesn’t care. Nat texted him that Steve's discharge was underway, and that was about an hour ago. He's losing it. He cleans the bathroom and the kitchen, reorganizes his bookshelf, organizes Steve's paints, and is about to alphabetize their DVD collection when his phone buzzes. He may or may not lunge for it. It may or may not be graceful.
It's from Nat. Just left. Be there soon x
Bucky huffs out, running a hand through his hair. It feels like shit, greasy and unkempt. He knows he looks like shit, too, but he can't be bothered to care about himself when Steve isn't even home yet. From the hospital.
He's claiming he's not hungry but I know he's lying, Nat texts again. That's his guy. And it motivates Bucky.
on it. thanks nat
He makes sandwiches, because he forgot to buy soup for Steve. Steve hates broths, has since he was a kid, but its tradition, and he knows it. Sucks it up every time and slurps every last drop every time he's bed ridden. It's been a while, though. Bucky'll go out and get soup tomorrow, something hearty and creamy to lift Steve's spirits a little. He hated being sick, but he's a sucker for tradition.
He also makes sandwiches because it's the most mechanical thing he can think of; it stops his hands from fluttering around, gives him something to do. Bread, lettuce, cheese, turkey, mustard. Simple stuff. Easy stuff. Easy for Steve to eat and easy for Bucky to get lost in making them. Layering the ingredients and adding condiments and putting it all together; cutting in halves and then in quarters, plating them. He sets a banana on the plate, too, grabs some water from the fridge and sets it all on the counter. Where it waits while he waits, while he puts everything back in its place and cleans up any messes he made. Until his phone vibrates.
Coming up
Bucky takes a deep breath. Tries to keep it together. His fingers tap against his thighs, riding out the leftover waves of his anxiety. Steve's finally coming home. Bucky hasn't seen him since Wednesday when he dropped him off at the airport. That seems like a lifetime ago. Indiana seems farther away than ever.
His mom has been demanding all the updates, which is expected. Which is why Bucky let himself text Becca and tell her all he knew, which was that Steve was fine but recovering and they're just waiting for him to be home. Which isn't a lie exactly, he just didn’t share the part about him being kicked out of the hospital. And he knew Becca would forward all the info to Mom, would try and hold her off his tail for bit, give him the space he needed. She informed him that Mom wishes her best, tried to call Steve herself but got his voicemail. That the girls sent a get well soon card in the mail. All manageable stuff; family stuff at a safe enough distance where they're close, but not enough so that Bucky's smothered by it.
He still hasn't told them he and Steve are dating. He's been too busy to feel guilty about it. Steve will probably take care of that when he finds out. If he finds out. (He'll find out.)
The keys jangle in the lock, and Bucky hears Clint's unnecessarily loud voice through his door. His body flushes involuntarily, nerves and excitement building up all at this moment. He's sweating. His heart is pounding. Steve's home.
The door opens and Bucky has to physically stop himself from taking a running leap at Steve. Steve, who's there and alive and looking pale and tired. Who's home.
He's smiling warmly at Bucky as Nat and Sam help him through the door, and Bucky is where they are before he knows it, feet carrying him swiftly. Clint has a bag in his hand and trails behind, closing the front door.
"Here you go, Buck. Got him home in one piece for you," Clint says, thinking he's funny.
"Ooh, I think Bucky might reenact that doctor punch on Clint right now," Sam comments, grinning, and Clint squawks. Nat rolls her eyes. Steve —
Steve just keeps staring at him, and it's fucking heartbreaking because Bucky's finally seeing him, and Steve's looking right through him; he knows Bucky, and Bucky knows him and can't stop thinking about all those other times Steve was in the hospital, can't stop thinking about all the times he almost lost him, all the times he's been so grateful to have Steve by his side, and vowed never to leave it. How he broke that promise.
Steve tilts his head at him, and Bucky knows he's caught, knows Steve's reading him like the open book he is when it comes to him. Bucky can see what he's thinking reflected in the understanding in Steve's eyes, and Steve shakes his head just a fraction and it's game over. Bucky's going to him, and the arm Steve can move opens to him and it's not the side Bucky usually favors in their hugs, but he plasters himself to Steve's right, and holds. Steve sucks in a sharp breath but tightens his arm around Bucky's back, daring him to move, and Bucky wouldn't, but he tries to be gentler. He doesn't know which ribs are broken and Steve's got a sling on his other arm but Bucky's so relieved to be holding him right now.
He doesn't know when he starts crying, but he doesn't care. He presses his lips to Steve's chest and stays against him, takes a deep breath when Steve kisses the top of his head, rests his chin on it. Bucky melts. He breathes. Steve is home.
"'M okay, Buck. Swear. Home now. Missed you."
Bucky nods. Takes another deep breath. "Yeah. Missed you too, you big lug." And he doesn't want to, but he pulls back, separates from Steve just a little so he can look up at his face. That nose that's been broken more times than Bucky wants to admit, has a bit of an unshapely look to it now because of all that. Bucky loves it. He loves that freckle above Steve's right eye, that scar on his eyebrow, that bow to his lips. Bucky drinks it all in, and then Steve smiles at him again. Smiles like all is right in the world, because it kind of is, isn't it. He's home.
Bucky leans up to kiss him, gently, softly, slowly, and everything falls back together. It's enough to ward off the stress that's been sitting on his shoulders since Friday, enough to make him calm. Because it's Steve. He could always do that. Steve rests his right hand on Bucky's side, warm and strong, and that's his Steve. Been through hell and back and still fighting, still standing, stronger than anyone Bucky could ever know. Stronger than himself.
"Love you," he mumbles against Steve's lips. "I'm so glad you're okay."
"Me too," Steve says lowly, pecking Bucky's lips again.
"Me three," Sam pipes up and shit. Bucky actually forgot they were there.
"Me four," Nat says.
"Me five," from Clint.
Bucky laughs into Steve's neck (the uninjured side). He pulls back and looks at all of his friends, and his heart blooms for them. Bucky didn't think he would ever be as close with anyone as Steve, and that's still true, but. They're pretty damn close. He would do anything for them, and he knows they would do the same.
"Thank you guys for everything," Bucky says to them. "I — just. Thanks."
"Of course, man," Sam shrugs. "Plus, we knew you'd kill us yourself if we let anything more happen to him," he grins impishly and Bucky can't deny him. Sam comes and steals Bucky for a hug of his own, claps his back as he separates from him. "Just don't get kicked out of the hospital next time," he says.
"Oh, there's not gonna be a next time," Bucky says, turning back to glare at Steve.
"What?" Steve asks, eyebrows shooting up. "I didn't fight anyone. It's not my fault I got run over," he grumbles, and Bucky knows they're all joking but he winces when Steve says it, and it doesn't go unnoticed. "Sorry, babe," Steve whispers, grabs his hand.
"Ugh, they're disgusting," Clint whines. "Let's go before they start eye-fucking each other." He drops the bad unceremoniously on the floor.
"Too late," Sam and Nat say in unison. Bucky groans.
"We'll leave you to it," Nat says cheerfully, hand sliding across Bucky's shoulders. "Glad you're alright, Steve." She leans up to kiss his cheek, and does the same to Bucky. He returns the gesture and takes her hand for a moment, squeezes his thanks. She nods and lets go before he can even open his mouth to say it. With another soft smile she turns around, and then all their friends are out the door, waving their goodbyes.
Bucky turns back to Steve, takes his hand up to cup Steve's cheek. Steve leans into the touch, soft and content for just a moment, before Bucky takes in the pallor to his cheeks, the bruises around his eyes. Then Steve starts coughing. And it sounds gross, in all honesty. "Hey. Let's get you to the couch." He navigates Steve over, as gentle as he can, sits him down and helps him maneuver so he's resting against the armrest and some pillows. Bucky goes back for the water and brings it to Steve's lips, sitting on his knees next to the couch.
"Thanks, Buck," Steve says when he can breathe again. "They gave me another inhaler 'cause of my punctured lung. Had an asthma attack in the ambulance." Jesus Christ, Bucky can feel the gray hairs growing. Steve hasn't had an asthma attack in literal years. "Doc said to be cautious — I might have another one while the lung's working to heal itself. Have to go in for a check-up on Sunday," he tells Bucky, eyes drooping a little.
"Okay, pal," Bucky says quietly, running a hand through Steve's hair. He leans in to kiss the tip of Steve's nose. "You wanna sleep or eat? I made sandwiches. And I got you something."
"What's that?" Steve asks, smiling dumbly at him.
"You'll see," Bucky says, getting up to get the sandwiches. He brings them back and hands one to Steve, and the banana, sets himself back on the floor so he can sit against the couch cushions. Steve seems to be able to hold out long enough to eat his lunch, but Bucky won't push him if he starts to doze.
"Thanks, Buck," Steve mumbles again, biting into his sandwich.
They watch Lost, and Steve's pretty thrilled (and shocked) that Bucky's bought all six seasons, and they eat. Bucky knows Steve's asleep before the first episode is even over, but he ate all his food, so Bucky takes the plate from him, throws a blanket over him and lets him sleep. Bucky lets himself shower now, puts himself back together now that he knows Steve is safe; Steve is home.
When Steve naps on Wednesday, Bucky goes out for soup, and nearly has a heart attack when he comes back home to see Steve trying to get off the couch.
"No, no, no. No. Sit the fuck down. Stay put, Rogers, I mean it," he rambles as he rushes over.
"Buck, relax. I gotta pee."
Bucky goes with him.
He makes Steve a bowl of soup (baked potato) when Steve's settled again, and Steve's throat works for a moment when he sees the bowl presented to him. "Don't have a cold," he still says though, working around a sniffle.
"Yeah, with you it was never a cold," Bucky remarks, handing him the soup. "C'mon, eat up."
And it goes. Bucky doesn't let Steve leave the couch, except when he starts to get restless and complains about it, so he lets him switch between their bed and the couch. Steve knows better by now than to press it. Bucky takes off from work and watches Steve draw in his giant sketchpad, gives him his meds, changes the discs of Lost for him as he works through the series; it plays in the background while he sketches, and Bucky sits beside him with his own books, content to wrap his hand around Steve's ankle, and they're comfortable. They're together, side-by-side, like always. They're home.
~~
(Bucky comes back up with the mail on Friday and hands the envelope postmarked from Indiana to Steve.
Steve absolutely lights up when he sees the construction card monstrosity Bucky's sisters made him. "Oh, my God. This is so sweet," he beams. "Wait, Buck, how was your trip home? I know you only got to be there for a day. Sorry." He has the nerve to look guilty, honestly.
"Don't be sorry, Stevie," Bucky says. "Ain't your fault. And don't be stupid enough to think I wouldn't come home to you for something like this." Now, Steve looks even guiltier. Good. "And the trip home was fine," Bucky shrugs, playing absently with his bookmark. "Mom's a little worried, but I told her we'd call her when you're feeling up to it. When I'm feeling up to it. He knows Steve knows that.
"Okay, yeah. Yeah. I'm glad you had a nice, but brief, time," Steve says, reaching out to rest his hand atop Bucky's shoulder. Bucky smiles, rests his hand on top of Steve's. "Wait," Steve starts again. "Did you even tell them about us?"
Bucky doesn't even try and hide it. "Yeah, I made sure to squeeze it in between me landing and then me fleeing back to New York," he deadpans. Steve rolls his eyes.
"Buck, you gotta tell them. It's been over two years now," Steve reminds him.
"I will. I will. Promise," Bucky says, and means it. Then he tangles his fingers with Steve's, still resting on his shoulder. "Hey. Two years, huh? That's pretty good for a coupla rowdy boys from Brooklyn."
"Yeah," Steve agrees, voice soft. Blue eyes staring right into Bucky's. "Think I'll stick around for a couple more."
"Sounds good to me.")