#oc buck

"Everything fine?" Buck asked, taking a small step away from the door as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"Y-yeah," Sev answered, fumbling some more with the button and cursing under his breath "motherfuck-"

"Alright. Dinner's ready. You like tacos?"

Tacos? Sev thought a moment. He could pick up a taco, right? Yeah. That shouldn't be so bad...

"Uh, uhm, yeah. I do."

"Okay then. Get a move on before it gets cold."

Buck walked back down the stairs before Sev answered, and he was grateful for it because his hands were starting to cramp and his eyes began to water.

"Useless son of a bitch. Can't even put on a damn shirt..." he sniffed and leaned over his footboard, grasping the wood in his hands. He had tried so hard, but he couldn't do it. It was getting worse. Would he be able to do anything himself? Then what would Buck think? What would everyone think?

They had been kind enough to him. Most were wary of him from early-on, as expected, but because Buck vouched for him then the others soon came around. How quickly would they turn on him when he became more of an inconvenience then he was worth?

Maybe he should have fought a bit harder with that gun. Buck wouldn't let him near his own now, and he wouldn't do that if he didn't at least tolerate Sev, right?

That's what Sev told himself as he pulled his arms through each sleeve and lifted the shirt over his head before kicking it underneath the bed. He settled for a white t-shirt with a stretched out collar, and he left his room and head down the stairs.

Buck was in his seat at the table, claimed solely because it had the best view of the television in the next room. He looked at Sev as he entered, and gave him a small nod.

"Serve yourself," he said, flicking his head back towards the kitchen door, "everything's on the stove. Warm tortillas in the microwave."

Without a word, Sev head into the kitchen and opened the cabinet to grab a plate. The white porcelain mimicked the white buttons, and he bit back another curse word at the unwelcome reminder of his pathetic failure.

He opened the microwave to two steaming corn tortillas sandwiched between two paper towels. He pulled the corner, and the tortillas slipped onto his plate. Then he moved to the stove where three pots sat; beans, rice, and shredded beef. He grabbed the spoon for the beans and wrestled around with it a bit before successfully topping the tortillas, then he moved to the rice. Another spoon, a bit smaller.

His hands were hurting already, but the kitchen was a mess with barely any counter space as it was... no, he could do it. He grabbed the rice spoon, holding it in his fist like one would hold stake they were ready to drive into the ground. He stirred it a bit, a puff of steam arose from underneath the mound, and suddenly he felt his hand slip, and the plate shattered on the floor.

Buck heard the crash and the clanging of metal, and he rushed into the kitchen to see Sev staring at the floor where food and porcelain scattered.

"I-I'm so sorry," he muttered, looking up at Buck with an emotion he had never seen before. Suddenly Sev's whole body began to quiver, and Buck stepped forward with his hands outstretched.

"It's alright, it's alright, no harm done," he said, "careful now. There's glass everywhere. I need to get the broom."

Sev could barely breathe, "I promise I didn't mean to, please... please..."

"Sev?" Buck grabbed onto Sev's shoulders and led him forward, away from the mess, "like I said, no harm done. It's just a plate."

He led him to the television where he slowly pushed him onto the couch. The boy didn't know where to look. His eyes were wide with panic, and he held his arms close to his chest.

Buck took a breath and crouched.

"Sev, look at me, please."

Sev's eyes flickered to Buck's, but just as quickly were removed.

"I need you to listen to me, son."

"I-I..." Sev stuttered as his lips felt numb and he leaned forward, pushing his head between his knees as he tried so hard to just forget.

"Listen," Buck placed a firm hand on Sev's shoulder. Sev snapped upright and shrunk away.

"P-please don't hurt me," he said, his voice so small, "the plate w-was heavy... my hands h-hurt and... I won't do it again. I promise. I promise..." he trailed off into a spattering of whimpered begging.

Buck's shoulders fell, and he retracted his hand, pulling a blanket from the other side of the couch and resting it over Sev's lap.

"I'd never hurt you, and I'm not mad. Rest here while I clean up."

Sev couldn't move if he tried, but after a few minutes alone he began to calm down a bit - though his brain was fresh with the onslaught of insults which the television conveniently quieted. he pulled the blanket up and lost himself in the violence of an old action movie until Buck returned, sitting in the sofa chair to Sev's left.

"Here," Buck said, holding out a bottle of ointment to Sev, "I got a back thing. This helps. Maybe it'll help you until I can get you in to see the doctor."

Sev shook his head, "I can't... you've already-"

"What? Fed you? Gave you a room?"

Sev didn't want to look at him.

"Yes..."

"Let me tell you somethin'," Buck continued, "I suck at cooking. Can't make correct portions to save my damn neck, so you're just eating food I'd have thrown out, and that room has been empty for years."

Sev blinked away tears, and glanced over as Buck again pushed the bottle towards him.

"That's the easy stuff," Buck said, his voice softening, "I didn't bring you here to quit on you over a plate and some rice. I just hope that next time you're struggling you know you can ask me for help."

Sev wordlessly reached for the bottle and rubbed it on his hands. Then he sat under the warm blanket, watching another TV movie as the hot and cold of relief spread through his muscles and the sounds of the farm outside filtered in over Buck's quiet snore.