Chapter 16
Sam dreams of Riley.
A common occurrence, but this dream is different.
No war or guns or life-ending blasts. No screams of retribution, no blood. No death.
In his dream, Riley sits at the island in Sam’s kitchen. He’s drinking tea, the flowery kind his family always sent in care packages, the kind that Sam gave him hell for drinking. He’s telling a story in the animated way of his, moving his hands, changing his facial expression. Laughing.
Sam hasn’t heard that laugh in years. He knows he’s dreaming, but everything feels so real. Sam can smell Riley’s tea, can feel warmth spread through his body as Riley looks at him.
“I’m so happy Sam,” he says, grinning.
“Me too,” Sam whispers. “About what?”
“You,” Riley simply says. “That you’re happy. You are, right?”
“Yeah,” Sam answers eventually.
Riley cocks his head to the side, and the motion is so Riley that it makes Sam’s head hurt. “You hesitated,” he observes. “That means there’s something more you can do. To get to that happy place.”
“I can’t bring you back,” Sam jokes, but it falls flat.
Riley shakes his head sadly. “No.” He stands up and crosses the kitchen to where Sam stands, wrapping his arms around his body.
Sam can’t remember the last time he hugged his best friend. Riley’s hair tickles his cheek and Sam sighs, breathing him in.
“I love you, Sam,” Riley says teasingly. But his eyes are honest.
Riley laughs again and Sam hopes he never forgets the sound.
*
Sam awakes with a gasp.
Riley. It was like he was just there. Like he dropped in for a quick visit in Sam’s kitchen like he always did when they were on leave.
He never dreamed about Riley like this. The real Riley. This was so much worse.
Sam was in bed alone. Bucky’s side of the bed was cool to the touch and Sam was thankful. He didn’t want Bucky to see him like this.
Even before he’d began working down at the V.A., Sam had always been big on getting others to talk about their feelings. He was a fighter, yes. But he’d always been a mediator too. Funnily enough, Sam’s talk it out logic didn’t really apply to himself.
He kept it in. Sam was a very open person. But he liked to keep the things that hurt him the most close to his chest. Because if he let them out, Sam didn’t know if he’d stop screaming. That’s why he tried not to think about Riley. He crossed Sam’s mind often, at work or when he’d spot a blond head in the crowd.
But Sam didn’t think about Riley. He didn’t think about those same tired old jokes he’d been telling Sam for years, just because he knew they’d make him laugh. Sam didn’t think about lying under the open desert sky, listening to Riley pick out stars and constellations. He doesn’t think about that time Riley came to his momma's place and nearly ate them out of house and home. Jody had only been a baby when Riley met her, tiny and warm and cuddly. He’d been enamored with his niece, and it made Sam’s heart warm to see him play with her.
Sam didn’t think about Riley. But today, he did.
It was the anniversary of Riley’s death.
That’s the only reason Sam allowed himself to cry silently, angrily wiping tears from his eyes. He did this every year, and every year he felt like an idiot. Riley was dead and a little bit of Sam still blamed himself.
There was nothing he could do, he was up there just to watch. But there were so many what ifs, should’ve could’ves.
Sam missed his best friend. He wondered if he closed his eyes if he could manage to get anymore sleep. Technically, he’d slept longer than usual, but he felt exhausted, like he’d been running laps in his dreams.
He’s on the edge of drifting off when the door to his bedroom creaks open. “Sam?”
“Buck headed to the farmers market but I made brunch if you’re up,” Steve whispers, and Sam inwardly rolls his eyes before clearing his throat and responding.
“Yeah, I'll uh, be down soon.”
Steve steps further into Sam’s bedroom and his heart sinks. He’d been less convincing than he’d thought.
“Are you alright?” Steve asks, and in a moment he’s beside Sam’s bed.
“I’m fine,” Sam lies, though he knows there’s no point, not really.
“You’ve been crying,” Steve observes. “You’re still crying.”
He is? Sam touches his face and realizes Steve is right. “Sorry.”
Steve shakes his head. “No need to apologize on my account. Can I sit?”
Sam nods and scoots over on his bed, pulling down a bit of his blanket cocoon and sitting up against the headboard, legs crossed.
“Now are you gonna tell me what’s wrong, Sam? I hope you know you can tell me anything.” Steve chuckles. “You never judged me for anything I’ve told you and I sure as hell won’t judge you either.”
He sighs. “I know, Steve.”
For a moment, neither of them speak. Sam rests his head on the cool wall behind him and listens to Steve breathe before he decides to try to talk.
“Remember my wingman Riley? He died today. I know it’s silly but I kind of take the day every year to think about him.” Sam smiles weakly. “It doesn’t always go so well.”
“Shit, Sam,” Steve curses. “Tell me about him?”
Sam hesitates, but he doesn't see why not. “Yeah, sure.”
He regales Steve with stories of his best friend. He laughs, and cries too, in stops and starts. Somewhere down the line, Steve takes Sam’s hand in his own, and Sam can’t find it in himself to mind.
Steve’s hearing about the time Riley and Sam once got lost on the way back from a bar overseas when Bucky enters the house again.
He’s all smiles when he cracks open the door to their room, but his mood changes quickly when he finds Steve in his bed with Sam, their hands clasped tightly together.
Bucky feels a hot rush of anger and sharp hurt. Because Sam is his. But he should've known that Sam would wise up eventually. He’d never been good enough for Sam, but he selfishly wanted him anyway. Somehow, he’d gotten him.
But with perfect, pretty Steve around, Sam had apparently come to his senses.
Then he notices the tear tracks on Sam’s face.
“What’s going on?” he asks casually. To his surprise, Sam and Steve don’t immediately spring apart from one another, and that makes it that much worse.
“Bucky,” Sam gasps, smiling weakly. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” Ignoring Steve, Bucky approaches the bed quickly, straddling Sam and cupping his face in a gentle metal hand.
“Bucky I didn’t want you to see me like this,” Sam whispers, wiping at his face.
“See you like what?” Bucky asks incredulously. “Sam you’ve seen me through it all. Besides, I love you, you’re my - you’re mine,” he corrects. “All I want is to be there for you.”
He presses kiss after kiss to Sam’s face until the tears are almost gone and there’s a hint of a smile on Sam’s face. Steve makes himself scarce, and Bucky relaxes against Sam’s chest.
“Baby are you gonna tell me what’s going on?” Bucky asks gently, not wanting to push. Sam had taught him many things during the course of their relationship. One of those things was when to listen and when to push. Right now it was listening time.
Sam hesitates, but shakes his head. He looks to where Steve was just sitting. “I’m done talking for now. I just want you to hold me, if that’s ok.”
Bucky smiles, rearranging himself to be the big spoon. “Always, baby.” He wraps both arms around Sam who curls closer into him, huffing out a laugh.
“I can’t believe I’m still tired,” he mumbles.
“Emotions can be very draining. Trust me. I’ve read that in a couple of your books, too.”
Sam smiles into Bucky’s shirt. “Smartie pants.”
“Hmm, I wonder who I picked that quality up from.” Bucky kisses the top of Sam’s head. “Let me know if you need anything, alright doll?”
Sam hesitates before speaking. “Could you hold me? Tighter I mean?”
“Like this?” Bucky asks.
“Tighter?” Sam whispers. Bucky complies easily enough and Sam sighs with delight, sinking into his warmth. “It grounds me. You ground me, Buck.”
Bucky snorts. “Trust me, the feeling is mutual.”
He holds Sam and rubs his back and whispers into his ear until Sam’s breathing evens out. Even then, he holds him a little longer, just to feel Sam’s breath against his neck, his heart beating against his.
*
Bucky eventually detangles himself from Sam, but not before covering him in copious amounts of covers. Sam got cold in his sleep.
Outside their room, Steve’s in the kitchen. He’s humming along to some music playing through the kitchen speakers; something soft, vaguely sad and a little dreamy. Steve turns it down when Bucky enters the room, grabbing a glass of water.
“Lasagna,” Bucky comments when he sees what Steve’s putting into the oven.
Steve pulls his ovens mitts off, nodding. “Yeah, it’s Sam’s comfort food.”
“I didn't know that.” Bucky feels an intense flare of jealousy light up insides, but he quickly changes the subject. “So, what happened earlier?”
Steve hesitates, obviously uncomfortable. “Sam didn’t tell you?”
Bucky shakes his head. “Nah. He was tired. Of talking and just physically exhausted.”
“I think you should wait and ask him,” Steve suggests, busying himself with cleaning the kitchen.
Without a second thought, Bucky joins him. “Maybe. But if he really doesn’t want to talk about it, then he shouldn’t have to. It would be easier if I just already knew, you know?”
“Maybe,” Steve says. “But I think you should wait. I want to respect his privacy, Buck.”
Bucky snorts. “Respect his privacy? Steve, he’s my fuckin’ boyfriend.”
“Oh I know. You made that clear when you jumped him a couple hours ago.”
Bucky feels like his world has turned on its axis. He can’t believe he’s having this conversation right now. “Jumped him? I was just trying to make sure he was okay.” He doesn't notice his voice rising. “Don’t act like you understand the dynamics of our relationship.”
“You act like an animal. You treat Sam like he’s something to possess. I know you’ve been through it, Bucky but - “ Bucky cuts him off.
“Maybe that’s what Sam needs, asshole,” Bucky grits out. “Maybe that’s what we both need from each other. You don’t know everything about me. Or even about Sam.”
“Bucky - “
“Don’t,” Bucky says. “Just because you're in love with Sam doesn't give you the right to advocate for him while he’s in a relationship with me.”
Steve looks like he’s just been backhanded across the face. “I - Bucky, I’m so sorry. I know he’s yours, but I still care about him. Hell, I care about you. You know that. But Bucky. He’s my friend. I’ll always advocate for him.”
Bucky steps closer. “Fine. But I don’t know if I can stand here and listen to you shit all over a relationship you barely even understand. You just got here Steve.”
“I would’ve been here a lot sooner, Buck.” Steve says quietly. “If you’d let me. But you weren’t ready.”
“Low blow, Stevie. I wasn’t. I wasn’t fucking ready. Without Sam, who knows when I would’ve been.”
Steve puts a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Quiet down, Buck.”
“Make me,” Bucky almost growls.
Before he can squeak, Bucky is being pulled shirt first all the way into Steve’s arms. For a moment, they just breathe in sync, staring into one another's eyes. Steve tilts his head to kiss Bucky’s lips and he cannot find it in himself to pull away.
Steve’s lips are softer than expected and taste suspiciously like Bucky’s coffee. His irritation is quickly forgotten when Steve’s tongue begins to press softly against his. Bucky pushes Steve into the counter roughly, and Steve lets out a little whine high in his throat like he’s being punched. The sound sends a bright flash of arousal up his spine, and Bucky can feel Steve hard against his hip, just from a bit of kissing.
When it gets difficult to breathe, Bucky and Steve pull away from each other slowly, still tangled up in one another.
“They’re even bigger than they look,” Bucky finally manages when his brain goes back online.
“What?” Steve asks amusedly.
“Your arms.”
Steve laughs. “Guess that’s the - “
“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks, noticing the way Steve’s face falls. He turns around slowly in Steve’s arms.
Sam.
“Sam,” Steve says desperately. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
Bucky jumps away from Steve, going toward Sam quickly, but Sam flinches away from him. Bucky stops in his tracks, and he can hear roaring in his ears like a wave just crashed down on top of him.
Sam smiles weakly, slipping on his sneakers. Bucky notices that Sam is dressed in his workout clothes. “It’s fine, guys. I...I knew it was going to happen eventually. I just - I’m going for a quick run.”
“Knew what was going to happen?” Bucky asks weakly.
“That you guys would fall for each other. I’ll see you guys later.” Sam swiftly and quietly exits the house before Steve or Bucky can get another word in.
Without him, the house immediately feels colder, the timer on the oven going off and echoing in the silence.
“What the fuck is he talking about?”
Bucky feels like he’s drowning. Every part of his being wants him to go after Sam. He’d chase Sam to the end of the goddamn earth to get him back. This wasn’t over. He’d fucked up, yes. But Sam was still his, if he wanted to be.
“Steve,” Bucky says irritatedly, flopping face forward down onto the sofa. “In what way was that not what it looked like.”
“Shut up. You need to fix this. You’re the cheating asshole, not me,” Steve says petulantly.
Bucky rolls his eyes even though Steve can’t see it. “No, your just Sam’s ex-best friend that made out with his boyfriend.”
Steve sighs. “I thought loving you two from the outside was hard. I kind of want to go back.”
Bucky lifts his head. “What?’