This one was tough to write; I did almost cry.

////

Steve went quickly to his side and sank into the poorly cushioned seat beside the bed. He grabbed his hand and Bucky tried not to cry again, but the severity of everything caught up to him.

"Hey," Steve said in a soothing voice as he moved closer, choosing that instead of the chair, awkwardly hovering, he'll kneel on the floor so they're more face to face. He used one hand to cup his cheek and Bucky choked out a sob, his voice weak, his eyes already swollen and red.

"Thank Christ you're okay," Steve breathed, looking worried. Bucky shook his head and sobbed, more tears running down his face. Steve held him close -- kissing his forehead, the top of his head, smoothing his fingers through his hair -- and Bucky allowed himself to get the tears out of his system as he tried to ignore the feeling.

"I'm not a whole anymore," he croaked, eyes barely open anymore. "I'm -- I lost my arm, Steve."

"I know," he hushed. "But you're still you. You're still my beautiful Bucky," he said softly, and Bucky sobbed harder. Steve gently wiped the tears from his eyes.

"I'm sorry I didn't stop," he wavered. Steve shook his head, eyes glassy as he watched him.

"I'm sorry about what she said," he mumbled in response. Bucky swallowed hard and let his eyes close as he took a sharp breath in, and exhaled shakily as he remembered everything else.

"You were right about her being -- "

"Yeah."

Bucky looked away, emotion choking him. He had to say it, or he knew he never would. "She -- she wasn't the only one, was she?"

The silence spread, and Steve stared at his hands. "I... I'm sorry, Buck." He hated how weak he sounded. "I didn't realise you.., "

"Heard you two talking? Yeah, I heard that."

Steve looked pleadingly at him. "I didn't want to say it, Buck -- "

"Then why did you?"

"Bucky -- "

"Answer me," he choked, glaring at him. Steve looked down.

"I couldn't stand up to her." His voice was quiet, defeated. "I couldn't do it. She... " She hit me all the time, but I never told mom or dad, I thought that was how that was, regardless we were close -- "She was my grandma."

"I thought you were supposed to stand up for me. I thought -- I thought you cared."

Bucky closed his eyes to gather himself. He pulled his hand free and managed to twist the other direction. Steve was silent, staring at his lap. He'd never felt worse.

Bucky sobbed into his pillow and Steve tried to keep himself silent. "I'm sorry," he croaked, scrubbing his eyes. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Bucky, this is all my fault."

"Just go, Steve."

"Buck -- "

"Just go!"

Steve flinched back and slowly stood, feeling heavy. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

He stared up at the ceiling and tried to swallow the tightening in his throat, the emotion threatening to explode out of him as he draped an arm over his eyes, feeling sick. Instead of saying what he wanted to say, he simply said, "I tried, Steve. I can't anymore."

He didn't look up to see if Steve had left or not. Instead, he closed his eyes.

So, Steve left. He closed the door gently behind him, and made it home in a daze. He sat on the edge of his bed and stared blankly at the wall, still aware of Bucky's blood on his shirt, the stinging of his cheek, his hands.

He blinked repeatedly when his father was in his face all of a sudden, looking concerned. "... Get you a cup of water, son?"

Steve nodded dimly. Joseph waited a minute then sat beside him. Steve didn't move, but looked at his hands.

"I really screwed things up," he finally murmured, and his father looked at him.

"It happens in relationships," he said quietly. "A relationship doesn't work if you don't fight now and then."

"No, dad... I don't think what I did will ever be forgivable." So he explained the horrors of the entire night, crying the few tears he had to shed that were left -- then, rambling about how much he'd messed it up, he went limp as his father laid him down on the bed and fetched him a glass of water.

"Steve, you're exhausted," he said. "I understand that -- well, pardon the French -- that some really sh*tty stuff went down tonight," he added, and Steve barely had the energy to nod. "But everything works out in the end. Look at me and your mother, and Elaine hates me," he chuckled. "But I fought for her, because she was worth fighting for."

Steve, his eyes closed, nodded a little and sniffled. Joseph cautiously tucked the blanket closer around him.

"Trust me, kiddo," he said as he moved to the door and switched the light out. "It has to work out in the end in some way or another."

He closed the door and sighed, blinking in the sudden light of the hallway. "It has to," he murmured before heading downstairs once more.

////

Bucky laid in that hospital bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. He didn't want to believe that Steve was like the rest of them.

He didn't want to believe that Steve was fake.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Steve had not said the words confidently. Surely...

He wasn't about to get his hopes up. He blinked and grabbed the phone lying beside the bed. Quickly dialing his father's phone number, he held his breath. "Dad? I need to speak to mom, please," he said and waited. It was 1 o'clock in the morning, but this couldn't wait.

"Mom? I'm... sad again."

And Winifred was off like a shot, talking to him for the entirety of the night. Bucky stared out the window towards the direction of home, and tried to cling to the little bit of hope he still had.

"Give Steve some time, I'm sure he has a good explanation for this."

"If he doesn't, I'll kill him for you, Buck!"

"Becca, go to sleep!" Winifred sighed and rubbed her eyes. "And about your arm, honey... "

His stomach tightened as he remembered, as he recalled the way the accident had happened. The car swerved the way he was running and slammed against the barriers, smashing the front of the car and sending Bucky tumbling with the metal. The driver was in the hospital as well, sporting a sprained neck and broken arm and leg.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," he breathed, closing his eyes lest tears appeared again. He couldn't remember the last time he cried so much.

"When do you get out?"

"The doctor said two more days for my ribs, and bed rest," he explained.

"Well, you still have an entire week of spring break left," she reminded. "Try to find something positive." She was quiet for a moment. "Should we get back in touch with Natalia?"

He smiled weakly at that and nodded. "Yeah, I'd love that."

"Okay. You should try to sleep, dear," Winifred said softly. "I love you so much. You're my beautiful, smart, incredibly brave boy. Keep smiling for me. Will you promise me you'll try?"

"Yeah, ma," he said, and his voice cracked as emotion welled within him once more. "Promise."

"That's my boy. Have a good sleep, we're thinking of you here."

He smiled and closed his eyes. "I love you, ma."

He hung up and placed the phone back in its place. Finally, he got comfortable, took a deep, steadying breath, and quickly fell asleep.

Miles apart, separated, the two slept fitfully. It was the first time they were apart in a long time.

It was going to be a long week.