Chapter Ten
Something crackled, and he froze.
Steve, however, gestured calmly for him to get up, and pulled a damn comic book from under the blanket. "Pietro." He sighed. "One of my proteges. He has this obsession with some super hero team called the Avengers or something like that. Sorry to startle you." Bucky smiled a little. He didn't ask about Pietro, lost a bit in memories of that days he'd enjoyed comic books and graphic novels.
"I'm taking someone's room?" Bucky then realized. It had looked empty. He folded his arm over his chest. "Steve -"
"I can literally open pocket dimensions to make my freezer hold more ice cream; don't worry about my guest room space." Steve assured him. Bucky nodded slowly, still feeling twinges of guilt. "Would you like some time to settle in?" Steve asked, noticing his subdued mood. Bucky nodded again, his eyes distant and pained. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed as Steve left, closing the door behind him.
It was nearly nine, he realized, and he'd visited a billionaire to get an arm - which he was still somewhat in shock about - actually eaten a meal, watched a magic squad attack his friend, fed his blood to a demon, agreed to a room mate, and moved into a new apartment.
A new room just reminded him of his original room, the one at his family home, the one with the red and blue walls of his early childhood. They'd been covered in pictures and posters, some of which had been comic based, when he'd left. He wondered if they were still up or if his parents had taken them down and put them carefully in boxes in the basements. They firmly believed in storing memories in the basement; he could trace his whole life through those boxes. Well, his life up until he'd left home and joined the army.
Memories of war brought darkness creeping in at the edges of his mind, tiny soldiers of depression and despair and rage and confusion and exhaustion that gunned down his faint satisfaction at what he'd accomplished today. Bucky sank back onto the bed.
He was about to curl up and try to sleep when Steve peeked back in, "Hey, I hope you - Buck?" Something in Bucky's expression must be off. "What's going on in your head?"
"I'm ... I'm not sure if I'm ready for this." He blurted. "I screw everything up. I am a failure, Steve, and a fucked up piece of shit. You're going to hate me or pity me and I can't stand either."
Steve leaned against the doorway. "James." he said quietly. "Give me some credit. You're making your metaphorical bed out of needles and lying down on it naked. You don't have to. Add pillows, dammit. Add pillows and Kevlar and blankets. Give yourself time. Give yourself a little compassion instead of hatred and pity. And know this: NO mistake you make would be worse than losing you. We're linked, Bucky, and I mean that. To the end of the line."
Bucky looked over at Steve. "I don't deserve it. I'm not worth it. I don't even trust myself right now; why should you believe in me?"
"I know you don't believe in yourself. That's what I'm here for right now, because I do believe in you and you can't stop me. Calm down. Everything will be okay. Don't freak out over change."
"I'm still unsure if I want to be alive, and everything is changing so fast, and I don't know what you want, who you are or much of anything about you, and that's freaking me out cuz I just moved in with you and how do we know you won't kick me out in a week and I don't know what you expect and I don't want to mess up!" He burst out. "So don't tell me to not freak out!"
Steve came and sat beside when and waited until Bucky met his gaze. "You deserve it. You are worth it. I believe in you. Everything will eventually be okay." He murmured. "You need to rest. I'll be on the couch if you need anything."
Bucky stayed completely still, the words running through his mind. You deserve it. You are worth it. I believe in you. Everything will eventually be okay. Steve had seen his crap. Steve had saved him from his crap several times. And Steve believed in him.