Chapter 9
Sam had to get over Bucky.
Every time Sam looked at him, he felt like he was falling. He hadn't felt like that since… he couldn't remember. Since Steve the part of Sam’s brain that had really been getting him in trouble lately said.
But even as they spent more and more time together, Sam felt lonelier and lonelier. Bucky didn't seem to notice, he was friendly as ever, eyes sparkling when he told Sam something dirty.
His eyes were always sparkling. God, Sam couldn't do this anymore.
So the next time Erykah set up a blind date for him, he said yes immediately.
Her eyes widened with surprise. “Really, boss? Awesome.”
“Yeah. Tell me about him.”
His name was Jeff Brooks - blond vet, out for a couple years. He had a job, loved football and beers, but was apparently also a drummer on the side. He loves vets, but doesn’t do active duty.
“Wonder why that is?” Sam wondered aloud.
Erykah shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe he had a guy who was leaving all the time and it was hard for him.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “That’s the job. He should know that.”
But Sam agreed to go on the date, because he didn't exactly have any other prospects right now. Bucky wasn't going to all of a sudden realize he was in love with Sam, and start exclaiming his love from the rooftops. It just wasn't going to happen.
He decided to call Bucky to let him know he wouldn't be home tonight. “Hey Buck.”
The sound of things clanging against each other answered the phone. “Hello?” Bucky eventually spoke, sounding slightly out of breath.
“Hey, its Sam.”
“Yeah, I know.” He could almost see Bucky rolling his eyes.
“I just wanted to let you know that I won’t be home until late tonight.”
All the commotion went silent. “Why?”
Sam blushed, even though there wasn't any reason to. “I’ve got a date.” He kept talking when Bucky didn't say anything. “His names Jeff, its a blind date. He lives over on Richmond by us, he’s a vet.”
“Oh. Have fun.” Maybe he was mistaken, but for a moment there it almost sounded like he was…disappointed.
“Thanks Bucky.”
Sam wished he was going out with Bucky.
*
Jeff was big; tall and blond. A good-looking guy. He greeted Sam with a hug that lasted a bit too long for propriety, in his opinion, and insisted upon taking a selfie.
From the start, Sam could tell that this date wasn't going well. Jeff openly leered at the waitress whenever she walked by their table, smiling and charming when she served them, but made snide comments as soon as she walked away. When Jeff got up to use the bathroom, the waitress, Ruby came over to the table.
“Why are you with that jerk?” she asked bluntly. “He keeps staring at my ass.”
Sam snorted out a laugh, putting his head in his hands. “I don't know either. Blind date. And I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. It’s just if I was on a date with you, I damn sure wouldn't be looking anywhere else,” she teased with a wink.
He laughed. He’d switch partners in a heartbeat.
“Aw, shucks. I’m on the job. But let me know if you need an escape.”
“Thanks,” Sam answered honestly, “but I think I can get through it.”
He should've said yes.
*
Jeff instead upon giving him a ride home, and while Sam protested politely at first, he agreed. The sooner he was home, the sooner he could get back to Bucky, back home. It was funny how those two words meant the same thing for him now. Bucky was home. And god, there was no one else he would've rather been on that date with.
At first, the ride was fine. Jeff let him pick the station, but he left it on the one Bucky liked. Bucky who had been an invisible third wheel on Sam’s less than ideal date. They small talked the news and politics, which only made Sam like the guy even less, though he kept his face perfectly neutral.
But Jeff pulled over. What are you doing? Sam asked.
Thought we’d fool around.
Maybe another time, Sam said. I need to get home.
Come on, live a little. He pressed into Sam’s space, gripping the back of his neck tightly. Pressing a kiss to his closed lips.
I said no, Sam exclaimed, moving his face away.
Jeff kissed him again, hard, insisting. His hand found his way to Sam’s ass where he gripped tightly, panting into his mouth. The pressure around his neck increased as Jeff ran his hand down his chest, up his leg. Jeff squeezed Sam through his pants and that’s when his brain finally caught up with what happening to him, what had been happening to him for minutes now.
“Get off of me!” he exclaimed, once he found his voice. Sam elbowed Jeff away from him, and punched him in the face, hard. Jeff’s head connected with the window with a sickening crack.
Sam pulled the car door open, and stumbled out on shaky legs.
“What was that for you stupid fucker? You don't know what you're missing -“ Jeff yelled stuff at him out the window while he wiped the steady stream of blood off of his face. When it didn't stop, he simply drove off with several expletives thrown his way.
“Not so off duty after all,” Sam muttered under his breath as he pulled out his phone to call an Uber to his location on the side of a road.
He had one missed text.
Bucky: are you ok?
No! He wanted to scream into the chilly night air. Sam hugged his jacket closer to his body. Fuck, he wasn’t. He felt violated, and gross and - and it felt like someone was watching him. Sam’s fight or flight instincts had been turned back on. He fought him - Jeff. But now all he wanted to do was fly, fly the fuck out of there. Suddenly, he was back in Afghanistan again. Or, more recently, the fight by the Potomac. But he hadn't had to worry about almost getting…raped?
Sam felt sick. That didn't happen to him. No, he was fine. But the nausea hadn't left, and he was cold so cold. All he wanted was to get to Bucky, to get home. But he couldn't tell Bucky about it. Shouldn't tell Bucky about it. He'd sounded disappointed when Sam first told him about his date, that he probably wouldn't let him out of his sight. Bucky would beat all the boys and girls away with a broomstick.
The image brought a little smile to Sam’s face. But it probably looked like more of a grimace. He wouldn't hide it from Bucky. He trusted Sam with his secrets, he'd show Bucky the same respect. But he wasn't looking for pity, no. He’s fine.
Sam’s Uber pulled up slowly and he waved before sitting in the warm backseat. He closed his eyes, and made his way home.
*
“That you, Sam? How was the date?” Bucky’s voice called out from the kitchen as Sam put his keys in their bowl by the door. (When did it be come theirs?)
“Yep. And fine.” Sam hugged his jacket closer to him, before slowly making his way into the kitchen where Bucky was over at the stove.
He turned to look at Sam, and Bucky’s smile slid right off of his face. Sam braced himself for an onslaught of questions, because of course Bucky had been able to figure it out. Something had given it away: his tone of voice, his words, his face, his gait. The way he consciously avoided his eyes. But Bucky changed tactics.
“I’m warming the food back up now,” he said, giving Sam an out that he took.
“I’m going to go shower.”
Bucky nodded at him, giving him one last glance before turning away. He looked relaxed, but his shoulders were tense. Something was bothering Sam, and that bothered Bucky.
Sam used that nice thought to get him up to his room. To get him to take his clothes off; to get him to unbutton his pants. In the mirror, he looked the same. Aside from the marks on his hand from the well deserved punch Jeff had gotten. He felt the same. But Sam’s brain was screaming at him. This isn't ok.
But the desire to fly away? The feeling was gone. There was no where else to go. He was home. And with Bucky downstairs, he was as safe as he’ll ever be.
And maybe Sam did more standing in the shower than washing. Maybe he just let the water roll over him, only to slip down the drain. He dried off and put on his comfiest sweats, still a bit damp. Maybe he didn't look at himself in the mirror again.
But when he reentered the kitchen, and Bucky gave him a cautious smile(the one used when asserting a new situation), Sam’s heart still did a self-deprecating little flip.
So this wasn't ok. But it could be ok.
*
“This looks amazing,” Sam offered, even though he didn't feel like making conversation. But it did look great. A nice cut of steak, a baked potato and asparagus that tasted of lemon. He hadn't eaten much at dinner, and he was happy because he got to eat this now.
“Thanks,” Bucky shrugged. “I had to warm it up though, sorry.”
Suddenly, Sam realized what Bucky had been doing all those hours ago when he'd called him on the phone. “Did you cook all this special food…for me?” he asked.
Bucky blushed and Sam wanted to punch something. “Uh…yeah. I’ve been going over to Mrs. O’Reilly’s in the daytime to cook with her. She showed me this stuff the other day and I thought you'd might like some?” He paused. “Sam, are you okay?”
Sam shut his eyes, clenching his fist tighter around his fork.
“Sam what happened to your hand?” Bucky brushed cool metal over his inflamed knuckles. The coolness grounded him, and Sam was able to open his eyes.
“My date didn't go well.” Sam looked down at his plate.
Bucky froze. “What?”
Sam didn't answer, taking another bite of his potato. Fuck, this was absolutely delicious -
“Did he do something to you?”
The asparagus was the perfect texture. Not limp, not hard. Crisp. How the hell did Bucky learn -
“Did he touch you?” Bucky’s voice rose an octave, and Sam was glad he wasn't looking at his face.
And the steak? Beautify cooked. Medium-well, the only way to eat meat. Damn, if the assassin thing didn't work out, Bucky might have a chance to be a chef -
Bucky slammed his metal hand on the kitchen island, causing a small crack to appear. “Answer me!” he exclaimed, body coiled tight and ready to spring.
“Yeah,” Sam shuddered. “Yes.” He wanted this to be over. Sam just wanted to sleep.
Bucky sat down heavily in his seat across from Sam, before he got up and began pacing the kitchen. He sat down once again before asking.
“Did he rape you?” Bucky asked, voice steady. But his arm whirred quietly, the way it always did when he was angry or distraught. Luckily, Sam had been hearing the sound less and less. But the noise was loud in the quietness of the room.
“No! No. He just…touched me,” Sam whispered, suddenly filled with shame now that it was out in the air.
“Just? ‘fuck are you talking about, Sam? He molested you?” Bucky nearly yelled. Sam could hear the crunch of the island under Bucky’s hand. He doubted he'd have any remaining furniture after tonight.
“Don’t try to tell me like it didn't happen to me.” Sam bit out. But it fell flat because his voice was shaking too much. He was shaking.
Sam never did this. Showed this much emotion in front of others. He'd been taught not to, and it didn't matter because he didn't have anyone to experience those emotions with.
But Bucky was across the room in an instant, arms around Sam. Tight. He took a deep breath, inhaling his scent. They used all the same soaps and shampoo and washing powder, so at first, he didn't smell too much different than what Sam assumed he smelled like. But was that…cologne he detected? A hint of spice, something almost mysterious. It was very Bucky.
Suddenly, Bucky pulled away, and Sam felt freezing. “I’m sorry,” Bucky mumbled, looking away. “I should've asked first.”
Sam smiled in relief. “It’s fine, it’s always fine.”
Bucky looked into his eyes, like he was searching for something Sam wasn't even sure was there. “Why?”
“It’s you,” he said quietly. “Now hug me again.”
And he did. Sam stayed in Bucky’s arms on the sofa. Finding Nemo was on (again) because Bucky loved it; even more so when Sam told him Steve did too.
“That stupid fucking fish reminds me of Steve. Pint sized, with planet sized balls. Idiots,” Bucky had said the first time they'd watched it.
Sam had laughed until he'd felt like he was having a minor heart attack, he'd never seen someone so angry about a Disney movie in his life.
Then, they'd been on opposite sides of the sofa. Today, Sam was wrapped in a ball, tucked under Bucky’s chin. He wasn't used to feeling small, but here he was, being cuddled. The TV was turned down low enough that Sam was able to daydream, the warmth of Bucky eventually thrusting him into slumber.
*
Sam woke when Bucky carried him to bed. The cool metal was wrapped around his back, and Bucky carried him with just that arm as he pulled back the blankets in Sam’s bed.
“Stay,” Sam’s sleepy brain shoved out.
He may have been dreaming, but he thinks Bucky pressed a kiss to his forehead. It tingled.
“I’ll be back, I promise.”
*
Bucky does come back.
When he finally slides into Sam’s bed, its been hours.
He smells of blood.
Sam goes back to sleep.
*
The thing about ass wipe rapists, is that they're usually idiots.
Jeff - Jeffery Brooks to be exact(wow he even had a douchey name) was definitely not exempt from that.
Bucky Barnes didn't have any social media(other than his anonymous Captain America fanblog) because who the fuck would want to follow the Winter Soldier? But he understood how it worked. Very well. All it took was Sam’s(borrowed) computer, and a quick search for Facebook.
No one ever logged out, so Sam’s profile was right there. He smiled at the pictures of Sam and his nieces, but the photo he was looking for was right at the top.
Jeff had posted a picture of them on their date. Sam looked uncomfortable; his smile was one that Bucky could now easily identify as fake. Jeff was a big blond guy, one of those bearded frat boy types from the movies he sometimes watched when Sam was at work. But he was military too, strong.
But a good punch to the head can take anybody down. Bucky grinned at the thought of Sam punching this guy in the face. Sam had left his mark on this guy, and Bucky was about to too - gosh, he was gonna be smilin’ all night.
Of course, Jeff had tagged Sam. His ego wouldn't let him do otherwise. Bucky clicked on his profile.
The thing about social media, is that people post too much. There’s a pattern. If you post a picture of you and your friends before every football game, in front of an apartment - then its probably your apartment. All it took was a little photo enlarging to get the number, and the helpful information from Sam that Jeff lived only a few blocks away over on Richmond.
Bucky smiled, and closed Sam’s laptop, putting it right where he found it. He checked on Sam, who was still fast asleep, body curled around the spot where Bucky had lay. He grabbed a handgun, just to be extra careful, and grabs a knife to be super safe. It’s a dangerous world out there.
He takes Sam’s bike out of the garage. Sam won’t miss it. He doesn’t have a car, and frankly Uber would be pretty awkward if he ended up killing the guy. Bucky’s too lazy to walk, so he bikes over to Richmond.
His murderous thoughts aren't interrupted, it’s a quiet night. Bucky does some quick recon - honestly he’s messy. He just wants to get back to Sam, so he can hold him. Make him feel safe for a little while like Sam always does for Bucky. He walks along the perimeter, and once everything checks out, he simply picks a random buzzer, and rings it.
“What?” a gruff voice answers. It’s after two in the morning.
Bucky puts on his best boy scout smile, even though the person can’t see him. “I seem to forgotten my key upstairs. Would you mind buzzing me in, sir?”
The man grumbles, but complies.
“Thanks for your trouble.”
Once inside, Bucky walks the bottom floor until he finds an apartment with noise coming from it, probably from the TV. He’s not going to wake anyone up, cause any trouble for people who don't deserve it.
He knocks on the door, and changes his face from friendly to frantic.
“Yes?” a tiny old lady appears in the crack of the door, barely visible with the chain. Perfect.
“I am so sorry to bother you at this hour ma’am but I was wondering if you knew which apartment belongs to Jeffery Brooks? I work for his parents and his mother has just been taken to the hospital. I was in such a hurry that I forgot to ask which number.”
“Oh you mean, Jeff? What a nice boy. He’s up in 297. Let him know I’m sorry about his mother.” the lady smiled at him kindly.
“Thank you so much ma’am.”
Honestly, Bucky was surprised that the plan worked so quickly. His performance was perfect. He crept up the stairs, easily reverting into the silentness of the Winter Soldier. Bucky’s flesh fingers ran over the curve of the knife. He was excited, he was itching…
No. That’s not who he was. Not anymore. Bucky never liked killing. But he never liked anything as the Winter Soldier, except for being warm and out of cryrofreeze. Bucky wasn't a psycho. He was simply protecting someone he loved, like he did for Steve.
Bucky stopped in his tracks.
He was protecting…avenging - Sam and his honor. He didn't think about why he was doing it, it was autonomic, as natural as breathing. Someone hurt Sam, Bucky would hurt them sevenfold.
It had been the same, back in the day with Steve. Steve, who was getting his ass kicked left and right. But Bucky would always find him, kick some ass and bring Steve back home. He'd patch him up, with only a little fuss. Bucky loved him.
He loved Sam.
Sam, who took him in, no questions asked when Bucky’s brain was still leaking out of the sides. Sometimes, he woke up and couldn't remember where he was, who he was. Steve was in the back of his mind, but until he saw Sam, Bucky wasn't a person.
Sometimes, Bucky didn't feel like speaking English. He'd speak only in Russian, and it drove Sam crazy. But he did some research, and Bucky helped when he was feeling better. Now Sam could understand a few basic phrases, which he posted on the refrigerator.
But those were the bad days. Bucky loved Sam when he held his hand. When Sam let him buy five different boxes of PopTarts at Target because HYDRA didn't have PopTarts, Sam. Bucky loved Sam in the morning, when he stumbled out from his bedroom, making grabby hands at the coffee Bucky had already poured for him. He loved Sam at night, when he got to carry Sam to his bed. It always gave him a little thrill, at how easily he was able to carry Sam to bed. Bucky would tuck him in, and look at him, just for a minute or two. He’s beautiful.
Bucky loves Sam.
He knocks on 297, and waits. After a moment, a blond guy opens the door, sleep in his eyes. Jeff. Before he can speak, Bucky has him around the neck, pushing into the guys apartment.
A glove covered Bucky’s left hand, but he doesn’t doubt that Jeff can feel the strength of it, gasping as Bucky shoves him up against the wall. Frankly, Bucky doesn’t care.
He releases a bit of the pressure, to allow him to speak. “What the fuck, man? You got the wrong guy, I swear.”
Bucky smiles, sweet and slow. “What’s your name, doll?”
“Jeff. It’s Jeff but I didn't do anything, I sw-“
Wrong answer. In the light from the apartment window, Bucky can see bruising on the right side of his face, his nose obviously recently broken. A flash of heat runs through him, but he shakes it off. Bucky punches him in the face, on the right side. Jeff falls to the ground, equally marked by Sam and Bucky.
He moans from his spot on the ground, clutching at his face which is bleeding profusely. Bucky crouches down beside him, but really, there’s no rush.
Jeff’s begging, pleading. Bucky ignores him.
“How was your date tonight?”
He freezes. “H-how do you know about that?” he asks nervously.
Bucky appreciates that. “Does it matter? You didn't do anything bad, did you?”
Jeff pauses. “N-no. No.”
Bucky calmly pulls one of his hands from Jeff’s face, and crushes it. The sound of the bones breaking are loud in the quiet apartment. His screams are even louder.
“Shut up. Shut the fuck up.” Bucky says quietly, in his deadliest tone. If this whole assassin thing didn’t work out, he might have a career in Hollywood. Maybe if he cut the hair…
“Ok! Ok, I’m sorry.” Jeff was full out crying now, though at a much more appropriate volume, holding his crushed hand.
“That’s for lying to me. And for putting your filthy hands on him.”
“Oh.” his face blanches with understanding. “You’re talking about Sam?” Jeff seems to smirk a little, through his ruined face.
Bucky kicks him hard in the gut, and then leans in close. “Don’t ever say his name again.”
Jeff spits in his face. “Oh so your his little boyfriend, huh? I was gonna fuck him so good. But lucky you, really felt like he was packing, if you know what I -“
Bucky carefully wipes the spit off of his face, before grabbing Jeff by the hair, pulling him into a sitting position. His gun is out of his pocket and in his hands in a moment, at Jeff’s head in a second.
“I should kill you.”
“Then do it,” Jeff bites out. But Bucky can almost smell the fear on him.
“I want to. Fuck, do I want to. But if I do, it won’t be quick, doll.” The gun is replaced with his knife, at Jeff’s neck. Bucky bites in enough that he’ll be scarred for life. “I’ll take my sweet time, make sure you feel everything. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging for the gates of hell.”
“But I won’t. Ironically, the person saving you from death is the person you molested,” Bucky spit out, shoving Jeff back to the ground.
Sam wouldn't want him to kill.
Bucky kicked him in quick succession, certain he'd have a few busted ribs. He wiped the blood off his hands onto Jeff’s shirt as best he could, wrinkling his nose. He put his boot atop his neck, loving the way Jeff shuddered.
“Please. Stop.” he begged.
“Did you stop when he asked you to?” Bucky wants to rip him to shreds. He wants to tear him apart and dance in his blood. He wants to drag his body home to Sam, and present it to him, like an offering.
“You won’t come with in 100 feet of him. If I ever see you again, you die. If you ever touch anyone again, you die. I’ll know. You hear me?”
Jeff nodded, shaking and crying.
Bucky walked to the still cracked door, and left the apartment. He closed the door behind him, of course. He was a nice guy.
*
Aside from washing his hands, Bucky didn't wash upon returning home.
Frankly, he didn't give a fuck if Sam found out. All Bucky wanted was to get back in bed with Sam, to make sure he was ok. To hold the man he loved.
But he couldn't have Sam. He didn't deserve him.
Bucky didn't believe in God, not anymore(70 years of brainwashing would do it) but Sam(and Steve) was the closest damn thing to an angel on this earth.
He’d already stolen his wings. Bucky would defile Sam with his darkness, he couldn't ruin him. Bucky didn't believe in God, but it didn't sit well with him, to bring an angel down with him.
Bucky pulled back Sam’s covers and slid into to bed with him, as if he never left. And as Sam curled up to his warmth without waking, almost instinctively, Bucky realized this was the closest to God he was ever gonna get.