Sam knows this is a bad plan. In fact, it was a bad plan three months ago, when it started, but when Captain damn America grabs and kisses you one night after a late run, you kind of have to be crazy to turn him down.
Okay, so Sam has a crush. Obviously. Even if Steve wasn't one of the hottest guys Sam had ever seen, who Steve is would make him kind of helpless not to want him.
It's a problem, though, because Sam's supposed to be helping Steve, in more ways than one. Steve calls him when he needs to talk, about Bucky and SHIELD and everything from before. Some nights Sam talks him down – tells him that he can't hold on to so much guilt about Bucky, that no one blames him for feeling his actual age sometimes.
Sometimes there's no use for it, and Sam says, "Hey man, just come over," because for all the counseling he does, Sam still doesn't sleep much, either. They sit and watch some of the movies on Steve's never-ending list, or listen to records on the player Sam got for $10 on a sidewalk corner when he first came back to the city, and most of the time, the noise in Steve's head seems to quiet down.
But sometimes, more often lately, the movie's still playing by the time Steve's got him on his back, clothes off, mouth pressed to his while he pushes inside Sam and it all pretty much throws therapy right out the window, but, well.
It's Steve. So he kisses back, pushes back against him, does what he can to keep Steve grounded here, now, not off fighting some war or looking for his friend. It's not the best idea, far from it, but sometimes you just have to use the best plan you've got, even if it's a terrible one.
*
One night, Steve comes over unannounced, but he's not alone. Sam's seen Barnes around, here and there - a sort of shadow that haunts Steve's apartment, a ghost that shows up sometimes only to disappear again for weeks, months. A few times, Sam's even tried to talk to him, even though his experience with veterans doesn't actually extend to people who have been severely brainwashed.
Sam's branching out, maybe.
Just like he has a hundred times before, Sam holds the door open and Steve comes in, Barnes following after a few seconds. Sam says, "Have a seat," and goes to make some food, even though it's 2AM - if his mom taught him anything, it's that food is the best way to get people to relax. While he cooks, he tries to get his own brain right.
When he brings the food out, Steve and Barnes are on the couch, and Steve's talking quietly. His hand is on Barnes' s shoulder and he says something that makes Barnes laugh - although it takes Sam a minute to even recognize it as a laugh, because it seems to come from so far away. Still, when he does it, it brings a light to his eyes like Sam's never seen before.
And Sam's in trouble. He's heard the stories about Barnes from Steve, how they grew up together, what they've done for each other. Sam wouldn't want to get in the way of that, not ever, especially when it seems like Barnes is getting a little closer to something normal, whatever that means –
But, yeah. Sam's in trouble.
He hands out the food, big plates of eggs and bacon and toast, and Barnes says, "Thank you," and smiles at him, almost, and Sam mumbles something nervous and half-intelligible that could be "no problem."
They eat, mostly, in silence. Sam notices that Steve and Barnes eat pretty much the same way, like they might never get a chance to see food again. He gets it; it took him a while after coming back to learn to slow down, to convince himself that all the good things around him weren't going to crumble into nothing as soon as he woke up.
Barnes keeps his head down, glancing up only when he feels Steve's eyes on him. Steve told Sam once when Bucky's around he can't look away for too long, afraid he'll disappear again. It's only when his plate's nearly clean that Barnes looks up at Sam and says, "I'm sorry about your wings."
Sam stares at him for a minute, but then smiles and says, "It's all right, man. I've got new ones. Better ones, even."
Barnes nods and eats the last of his toast. Sam notices Barnes favors his right hand, that the left mostly stays limp at his side, like he's not sure what to do with it now that it's not a weapon.
"You should see him," Steve tells Barnes, looking at Sam. "He's so fast even you couldn't catch him."
He and Barnes share a look, something Sam can't quite read, and then Barnes looks at Sam again and Sam's breath catches in his throat. "I'd like to see them," Barnes says, and Sam nods. "Yeah, man," he breathes.
Nothing happens, that night. It's late and once they're all fed, Steve starts yawning and Barnes leans against him like there's nowhere else to go. Sam offers them his bed, but Steve tells him the couch is fine and Sam nods and leaves them to it, and when he wakes up four hours later to go for a run they're both still there, asleep on couch cushions piled up on the floor.
Sam runs for a long, long time.
*
After that, Sam sees a lot more of Barnes - the word "Bucky," can't quite leave his mouth, so most of the time he settles for Barnes, or James, or nothing at all. He comes by with Steve just to hang out and Sam tries, he does, to keep his distance around them and just be a friend.
It's harder to do that when Barnes comes by himself.
Unlike Steve, he doesn't call first; most of the time, he doesn't even use the front door. Sam comes home and he's just there, at the table, like an object suddenly come to life. But Sam knows how to talk to people, and so he doesn't treat it like he's weird - he knows Barnes would never try to hurt him again, that it was nothing personal. So he just cooks them some food, or grabs a beer for each of them.
One night Barnes uses his left hand to crack open his beer bottle, and Sam tries to keep anything else out of his voice when he says, "That's a neat trick."
He doesn't get Barnes to smile this time, but his lips twitch like he's almost there and he says, "I'm full of those."
Sam wants to know, and he doesn't want to know at all. It's a bad idea to play therapist to someone you want to sleep with, or vice versa. They drink their beers and they don't talk, much – Sam gets the idea Barnes might have come here for the silence – and when Sam stands up to get them another each, Barnes is gone by the time he turns around.
Another time – Sam has met Steve for coffee during a break earlier in the day and ended up pressed up against him, face buried in Steve's neck and he can smell Barnes on him – Barnes actually talks, tells him some of what he remembers about before.
His voice is calm, but his hand shakes when he brings it up to push his hair of his face, and when he finishes Sam touches his hand, briefly.
"Have you told Steve about any of this?" he asks.
Barnes shakes his head. "He's read my file. He probably knows better than I do what –" he stops, swallows, starts again. "It's easier if he thinks I barely remember."
Sam nods to say he gets it. There are things he's never said to anyone, except in meetings. Some people, no matter how much you love them, don't need to know.
Before he knows it, Sam is telling Barnes about Riley, about who he was before the fall - about who he was, before he lost his friend.
"You can come back from it, man," he says. "If you want to badly enough."
Barnes says nothing else, but later on, when he reaches for Sam instead of reaching for the door, Sam doesn't tell him no, even though he maybe should. If this is what Barnes needs, just like it's what Steve needs – and Barnes must know, Sam's sure of it, or he wouldn't be there – then Sam's not going to just tell him to go home.
It's a bad plan, but right now, it's the only plan.
Barnes kisses harder than Steve, grabs where Steve pulls, bites where Steve would only scrape his teeth. When he comes he doesn't make a sound.
Sam offers Barnes his bed to crash in, after, but Barnes tells him the couch is fine again. Sam wakes up late in the night when he hears voices, but he knows it's Barnes and Steve, and so he drifts off again to the sound of the two of them talking. When he gets up later on to take his run they're both gone, but there's a fresh pot of coffee brewing in the kitchen, and a note from Steve inviting him over to his place later since we owe you about ten dinners by now, and Sam texts Steve to say yes. I can't promise you we can manage anything more complicated than canned vegetables, Steve texts back later on, and Sam laughs.
Almost two hundred years between you guys and neither one of you can boil some pasta? he texts.
Next time we'll ask for super cooking abilities instead, comes the reply, but there's a "- B" at the end of it that lets Sam know it's not from Steve this time.
If all else fails, we'll order pizza, Sam replies, and then he puts his phone away and gets ready for work. Maybe it's not exactly advisable to play therapist to someone – or two someones – you're sleeping with, but so far, he doesn't think he's doing such a bad job on either front.