Work Text:
James hasn’t slept.
The first night, Steve dismisses it and gives him a backrub.
The second night, they learn an awful lot about the mating rituals of some tiny little bird that lives in Africa and Steve’s already forgotten the name of.
The third night, they go to Waffle House. On the fourth, Steve threatens to take him to the hospital.
“You can’t live like this, Buck,” He sighs and reaches for James’s hand across the laminate countertop. “You can’t just…give up sleeping.”
James shrugs. “‘S not so bad.”
The fifth night was going on unbearable.
Steve takes in the dark purple half-moons under James’s eyes. Red, bloodshot eyes full of grit in the corners, like he hasn’t even been sleepy enough to rub it away.
“No, Buck.” Steve shakes his head. “It actually kind or is.”
At that moment, Tasha saunters into the kitchen in an overly long sweater and overly short shorts. “What’s he done this time?” she asks, helping herself to coffee.
“Won’t sleep,” Steve says, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter.
“Won’t or can’t?” Tasha clarifies. “Believe me, there’s a big difference.”
James, who has managed to slip unnoticed into a shaky ball on the floor, whispers, “Can’t.”
Tasha looks at Steve as if she were a lion and he a poor unsuspecting wildebeest. “And you didn’t even bother to find out?”
“Does it matter? We’re still taking walks around the block at 3 in the morning regardless. I made appointments with his psychiatrist and his GP–”
“Jamie?” Tasha interrupts. “What are you willing to do?”
“Fuck, anything.” James mops his sweaty hair from his forehead.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Hold up, what is this? It does not sound like a good idea. It does not sound safe.” Steve goes to take James’s hand and yank him back to safety, but he can’t bring himself to do it. The way He leans on Tasha’s little frame, their hands clasped out in front as they’re prepared to dance the paso doble.
Steve puts on another stupid nature show and waits on the couch for James and Tasha to reappear. When they finally do, James is a pure, ghostly white. Tasha looks triumphant.
She helps James to the couch and lays his head in Steve’s lap. Then she curls like a cat at the opposite end of the sofa to watch her handiwork. “Give him ten minutes,” she whispers to Steve. “He’ll be out before he knows what hit him.”
Steve tries to believe her. He wants to believe her. She does have that magical connection with James, that sibling bond that Steve will never be able to have with him.
“I hope so,” Steve says softly. “He’s in rough shape.”
“How long?” Tasha asks, her voice and intonation neutral.
“This is day…” Steve pretends to count them up, as not to appear unhealthily obsessed with James’s trials and tribulations. “Five?”
“Seems right.”
“You come and go, though,” Steve says. It’s a statement of fact,
“Yep.” Tasha bites her upper lip and
Steve gets the hint. He’ll leave that can of worms unopened. “What did you give him?” he asks instead.
“Oh, a little of this, a little of that.” Tasha mimes mixing vials into a cauldron and stirring.
“Legal?”
“Some.”
“Good god…”
“Hey, he’ll sleep. Look.” She nods to James’, cuddled against Steve with his head in his lap.
“Wow, that might actually be a miracle,” Steve leans over to give James a kiss on the cheek, but he hears on ominous gurgling sound coming from his chest. “Oh no.”
Before he can say anything more, or warn Tasha, warm bile and water mixed with colorful pill coatings come up all over his legs. James turns nose-down against Steve’s thighs and vomits again, trapping the sick between his chin and Steve’s jeans.
“Tasha!” Steve all but shouts, looking around for her. “Help, please.”
Tasha skids back down the hall and gives Steve a strong ‘You break it, you buy it,’ face.
“Yeah. But what did you give him?”
“Every dpwner in my stash. Finished off with a little oxy.
“Geez, No wonder he’s sick as anything.” Steve shakes his head. “Alright. There are two jobs now. Take him to the bathroom, or clean the carpet. Which would you rather do?’”
Tasha leans down to the height of the couch cushions and ducks her head under James’s arm. He’s malleable in this sick, weakened state, and he has a soft spot for her anyway.
“Right.” Steve heads to the cabinet under the kitchen sink and pulls out baking soda and carpet cleaner. If it was for anyone else, he’d be disgusted. But all he can think of is completing the task quickly so he can be by James’s side again.