Is solace anywhere more comforting than in the arms of a sister? - Alice Walker
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“I’m just worried about him, Sarah.”
Sam’s voice breaks through the tinny speaker of her phone, sounding both exhausted and overly frustrated. Sarah cradles the device between her ear and shoulder as she folds up AJ’s soccer uniform to set aside for the weekend.
She can hear her brother on the other side of the line, his thick Captain America boots stamping against the metal ground of whatever jet he’s on as he paces back and forth.
“I mean, we went to Becca’s funeral, but it’s like he wasn’t really there, you know?” Sam continues, not waiting for her response. “He just stared at the front like he was looking right through the walls. I would try to talk to him, but he could barely keep up with what I was saying. I just shouldn’t have left. Not when he’s clearly struggling. He gets that way sometimes; dissociates and loses time and we’ve brought it up to his therapist, but she thinks it’s just something that happens and there’s not anything we can really do–“
“Give him some time, Sam.” Sarah interrupts loudly, knowing that if she didn’t her brother would continue his rambling until he was blue in the face. She puts down the clothes and moves to hold the phone properly in her hand. “This isn’t really something we’d ever be able to understand. She was his sister, but also, he missed over eighty years of her life. I can’t imagine what that feels like.”
The sound of the boots hits a sudden stop and she just knows Sam is doing that thing where he rubs his eyebrow as though that will magically clear away the future stress headache they both know he will have. There’s a heavy sigh before he speaks again.
“I know, I know. I just wish I could be there. It’s bullshit that Ross made me fly all the way to D.C. for one meeting. We’re supposed to be on vacation.”
Ah yes, the never-ending duties of a national icon. Bucky and Sam had just finished a mission, a long one, only for them to come back and receive the news that Bucky’s sister had passed in her sleep. They were hoping to come down to Delacroix to relax after the funeral. That relaxation lasted about two days before Sam’s phone rang in the middle of breakfast. Sarah is sure it’s less about Sam needing to be in DC and more about Ross showing off that he has Captain America on his side. More like a safe ten foot distance than actually on his side , but that never seems to matter as long as Sam steps into the room dressed to the nines in his whole get-up.
“You’ll be back tomorrow morning.” She tries placatingly. As she rounds the couch to head into the kitchen, she realizes it’s about time to start on making dinner anyway. She’s not sure where the boys are at, probably out by the water, but they’ll be coming in soon complaining about being hungry. “In the meantime, don’t go thinking I’m not going to be looking out for my future brother-in-law. I’ll have him come over for dinner and maybe Cass and AJ can take his mind off things.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good, Sarah.” Sam at least seems a little more relieved after hearing it. “Make sure he actually eats. He’s good at distracting people.”
Sarah snorts. “You mean he’s good at distracting you. Come on now, Sam, I’m a mother. Just because I don’t have your day job doesn’t mean I don't have skills.”
Sam chuckles a bit on the other side of the phone just as another, more automated voice comes through. She can’t make out what it says, but she assumes it’s some kind of announcement for Sam to hear. A confirmation is given as her brother groans in annoyance.
“I guess I gotta go. Take care of my boy, please. I’ll try to be home as soon as I can. Love ya, Sis.”
Sarah says goodbye to him, but she thinks Sam must barely hear it as he rushes off, hanging up the phone. Shaking her head, she sets the phone face down on the counter. Sometimes, she’s not sure what to do with the two of them. They’re good for each other, she knows that. She’s never seen Sam happier, at least not since Riley died. And Bucky, when he first showed up on her doorstep, was charming, sure, but so obviously faking it. He’s opened up a lot since then and she knows the biggest change happened around the same time he and Sam started dating. Still, the way they worry over each other, sometimes she wonders how they haven’t managed to just fuse together at the hip and save themselves the trouble.
A commotion outside the screen door is the first thing to take her mind off her conversation with Sam. She smiles, the familiar sound of her own children’s too-loud voices drifting in through the cracked open kitchen window. It was warm today, but there was a cool breeze blowing in off the water so the boys had been outside more than they’d been inside. They had gotten lunch down at the corner store with money she’s sure Carlos gave them for helping untangle nets down at the docks. Now that the sun is starting to go down, the air is more chilly which means her two boys have finally made their way home.
Delacroix is a quiet town and really, there’s nowhere else Sarah can see herself living. She loves that she can watch her kids walk out the door in the morning and not have to worry about the fact that she won’t see them again until the evening. She loves that she knows everyone who lives along this street and the next and that they know her and her boys. She’s not sure what she’d do if she had to listen to bustling city blocks day in and day out instead of the sound of the frogs chirping on the bayou.
“Mom!” Cass barrels through the screen door, AJ not too far behind him. “We found Uncle Bucky!”
Sarah looks up from where she had been crouched down to grab a pan from the bottom cupboards. As though on cue, Bucky does come through the door, though much softer and polite than the first two had. He gives her a soft smile in greeting and she returns it, but she takes the moment to really look at him.
Maybe Sam had been right to worry. The man in front of her looks rough, for lack of a better term. The stubble has grown out on his chin and the bags under his eyes let her know he hasn’t been sleeping properly for days. She knows he’s over a hundred years old, but damn, the lines on his face are sunk too deep for someone biologically so young.
“How long have those two been dragging you around?” She asks him. She really wants to ask “how are you?” but she knows she won’t get a truthful answer anyway. Both Bucky and Sam tend to share that annoying little trait.
“They came by the boat about an hour ago.” Bucky shrugs. “They were bored. It’s okay, I don’t mind.”
“I know you don’t, but still. Don’t be afraid to tell them to skedaddle every once in a while.” She laughs, trying to lighten the mood with a bit of teasing. Though, she’s not entirely joking. Cass and AJ can be a lot.
Bucky leans back against the kitchen island, his arms folded over his chest.
“Yeah. I’ll keep that in mind.” He says softly, gaze lifting to the window overlooking the backyard. He won’t. She knows he won’t. Turning away her sons when they ask him for something is never a thought that seems to cross Bucky’s mind.
Sarah sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, thinking. She runs a pot under the tap and sets it on the stove as she runs through a list of what to say. She’s not a counselor like Sam was and she has no experience in dealing with an ex-assassin whose heart is too big for his chest. Especially one with decades of trauma she can’t even begin to think about.
“Have you… talked to Sam today?” Well, it’s not the best, but at least it breaks the silence.
“No. He’s busy.”
Sarah can’t help the scoff that slips through her lips and she turns to face her friend head on as she puts her hands on her hips. Now that’s a fat load of crap if she’s ever heard it. Bucky catches the look she gives him and sighs, running a metal hand through his hair.
“You know as well as I do that he would never be too busy for you.” She scolds. “At least text him. Don’t tell me you don’t know how either, I’m not falling for that.”
Bucky just shrugs again. Always with the shrugging. These boys are so infuriating sometimes. She needs some more female friends. Why does she hang around so much brooding testosterone?
“You want help with anything?”
Sarah’s disappointed, but she can’t say she’s surprised that the man decides to change the subject. She has learned, however, that it’s best to let it be. Rolling her eyes, with her back turned so that Bucky can’t actually see, she opens the fridge and pulls out some bell peppers. They get placed on the island before she grabs a small knife from the block and just barely refrains from slamming it down next to them.
“Get to chopping, then.”
——
Dinner was nothing of an affair. It was quiet. AJ and Cass both scarfed their meals down, absolutely begging to run out of the house again to meet up with the other neighborhood boys. It’s a weekend, springtime in full effect, so she’s lenient. Of course, on the condition that they head home when Sal closes down his bait shop for the night.
And then there’s the third boy currently in her care. Bucky helps her clean up after they’ve all eaten, washing the dishes in the sink with yellow gloves on up to both his elbows even though vibranium doesn’t rust. When they’re done, she insists on him staying for the night. Sam’s old room is still empty or, god forbid, the couch if that’s more comfortable for him, though Sarah can’t imagine how that could be.
“That’s alright, Sarah.” He tells her, as though her asking had been a common politeness instead of a genuine offer. “I still have some things that need fixing on the boat. The cabin is comfortable enough for when I get tired.”
Sarah finds herself immediately making a noise of disapproval. “Bucky, it’s not summer yet, it still gets cold out on that water at night. Sam would kill me if he knew I let you sleep out there.”
“We both know if you and Sam fought that Sam would not be the one making it out, Sarah.” Bucky jokes, and yeah, he’s probably right, but he’s being evasive on purpose.
As hard as she tries, though, she’s not able to convince him otherwise. She feels a bit like a failure as she watches the man head back out the screen door only an hour after the kitchen had been cleaned. She watches him from the back window, walking with his hands in his pockets and his head hanging as though the weight on his shoulders was too heavy for even a super soldier to carry.
She tries telling herself the same thing she told her brother. Give him time. He’ll come around, he always does. It doesn’t sound nearly as convincing in her head as it did when she was saying it out loud.
What is she to do, though? It’s not as though she can head out to the docks and physically drag that idiot back to the house. She thinks she may need a few more days in the gym to be able to do that. She also can’t really call Sam. He’s a thousand miles away and likely still exhausted and all she would do with a phone call like that is give her brother more reasons to worry.
It kind of sucks just being a normal person sometimes.
So, when Cass and AJ get home for the night, she sends them to bed before climbing into her own. She tosses and turns a few times and when she hears the old grandfather clock in the downstairs study chime twelve times she finally decides to sit up and grab her phone.
She knows Bucky wouldn’t be asleep yet. Hell, if what she’s heard from Sam is true, then he’s probably having a worse go of it than she is.
“You aren’t alone here, Bucky. You know where the spare key is if you get cold.”
It’s a simple text and she would send a whole paragraph if she could, but it makes her feel slightly better to know that she’s given the man options. An open ended offer is good for him. At least that’s what Sam told her. Bucky doesn’t do well with being given orders, not anymore, but she would feel awful if she didn’t at least reiterate that he has the choice .
Her text is left on delivered, not that she expected any different, but at least she’s calmed her worried mind enough to roll over and finally fall asleep.
Only to wake up a few hours later, the clock on her bedside table blinking at 3:48 AM. She’s not sure what woke her up and is about to simply chalk it up to her mom instincts rousing her consciousness at the noises of the house settling. Then she hears the voices coming from her kitchen.
The covers are off in seconds and her heart beats in her throat as she grabs the baseball bat from under her bed. Being the sister to Captain America, she's taught herself a thing or two about self defense. She heads out into the hallway, making her way to AJ’s room, which is the closest, then Cass’s. After making sure both her children are still in bed and unharmed, she grips the bat tighter, sticking to the wall as she heads for the stairway.
There’s no light coming from downstairs, but she can still hear the voices. A couple of men, she believes. One speaking in English and another answering in some foreign language. She can’t really place it. At first she thought Russian, but no, it sounds different than the few Russian terms she’s learned since knowing Bucky.
Bucky. She should call Bucky. She can take care of herself, but she's just one woman and she has two weaknesses sleeping just a few feet away. She wouldn't be a match for multiple bad guys. She should wake her children and lock both them and herself in a room and call Bucky. He’d answer, she knows he would, and he’d be over in a second. She feels frozen, though, and the floorboards in this old house creak so loudly sometimes and if she wakes one boy, that means the other is out of her line of sight and she can’t risk that. Not even for a few seconds. Not even to grab her phone from the nightstand in her bedroom.
She remembers then, in her panic filled mind, there’s a landline at the bottom of the stairs. She could call on that. Even if they saw her, if they found her and something happened, at least Bucky would be suspicious enough at the early morning call to make his way here anyway and he’d make sure her boys were okay. Bucky would protect her boys, she's known that since she met him.
Moving slower and more careful than she has in her life, Sarah creeps down the stairs. Her hand sweats on the wooden bat and her ears ring with the force at which she strains them to continue listening to the men. She barely breathes.
She reaches the bottom of the stairs and can see the phone, right there on its small table stand, a floral piece of fabric underneath. She barely uses the phone. The boys mess with it when they play pretend and telemarketers have a field day with it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not outdated. It’s just that the landline hookup came with the old house and she remembers thinking, hey, maybe someday. Now she’s glad she did.
Calling 911 was a thought that crossed her mind for a second, but then again, 911 is not as fast as Bucky Barnes.
So she calls Bucky. Her fingers are stiff, her heart jumping with each soft clicking sound the numbers make as she presses them. The dial tone sounds and then, from the kitchen, the blaring noise of a phone ringing has her gasping, a hand flying to her mouth.
The two men stop talking and there’s a grunting noise before something soars through the dark room only a few feet away from her. The object hits the ground, bouncing a few times before finally landing and lighting up. Sarah realizes, with a start, that it’s a phone. Bucky’s phone. The screen is bright in the dark living room, the picture of Sam smiling full and bright staring right at her. She hangs up the landline, her brows furrowed. Why is…
The voices start again and now that she’s closer, now that she can see the phone in front of her, she’s able to put the pieces together. It’s not voices, it’s one voice, switching back and forth between languages like he’s not sure which is the right one to use.
Sarah picks up Bucky’s phone from the carpet and slips it into the pocket of her pajama pants, tiptoeing around the corner until she’s able to peek into the kitchen. The moonlight coming through the windows is enough to illuminate the single figure pacing back and forth across the tiles. When he turns, the glare from his metal arm flashes.
“Bucky? Are you okay?” Her voice sounds foreign to her ears after how long she spent trying to keep quiet.
“No, no, no Bucky. Jamie.” Bucky mutters to himself, barely even acknowledging the fact that she stepped into the room.
“W-who’s Jamie? You should be sleeping.” She takes a few steps closer and Bucky doesn’t stop pacing. He has one hand on his head, the metal fingers tangling in his hair and pulling. She wants to reach out and stop him, but she thinks touching him may not be the best idea right now. “Do you know where you are?”
Bucky spits out something in that language from before that she still can’t place. She’s assuming the answer to her question is probably no. He wouldn’t speak anything other than English with her. Maybe French, but only because she has a basic understanding of it better than Sam does and they like to tease him that way.
A tile creaks under her foot and Bucky’s head whips towards her like a deer that hears a twig snap in the forest. His eyes are wide as he stares at her, confusion swimming in the blueness. His eyebrow twitches, his head tilting.
“Becca calls me Jamie… not Becca…” He whispers so quietly Sarah barely picks up on it.
“No, Bucky, I’m not Rebecca. I’m Sarah.” She places a hand on her chest. “Sarah.”
Bucky flinches violently and she jumps, immediately reaching out towards him even though her hand just hangs uselessly in the air. He lets go of his hair, a small relief for her, before staring at his left hand as though he’s unsure why it’s there.
“Your mom’s name was Sarah.” He mumbles, flexing his hand open and closed again. “Steve… Where’s Steve?”
Sarah doesn’t know what to do. If Bucky is asking about Steve of all people, after years of him being gone, then there must be something really wrong. She swallows against the anxiousness in her throat and, though wary, forces herself to move closer.
“Steve isn’t here, remember? You’re in Louisiana right now. In Delacroix. You and Sam are visiting, but he had to go to D.C. You came to dinner tonight. You helped me chop vegetables.” Sam had taught her a bit about what to do when Bucky is having an episode. As much information as you can think of, Sarah. You have to ground him.
It doesn’t seem to work, though. It really only seems to make things worse. The confusion on his face increases and then suddenly he’s doubling over, groaning loudly and banging at his head with his right hand so hard Sarah worries he’ll give himself a concussion. The metal arm flings itself out, palm landing flat against one of her cupboards and fingers curling in. The wood dents and splinters under his fingers as though it was soft as clay.
“Bucky, please stop!” She doesn’t care about her cupboards, she can replace those, but the pounding against his head is scares her. She rushes around the kitchen island until she can stand in front of him, grabbing his wrist in her hand without even thinking about it. The response is immediate, his vibranium arm striking out against her chest and throwing her back. It doesn’t hurt, he puts no lethal force behind it, but it does knock her on her ass. It also gives her a bit of hope. Bucky didn’t try to harm her. He just wanted her to let go. He held back and that means he’s still in there somewhere.
“I’m sorry. Îmi pare rău. Please. Nu o voi mai face.” Bucky scrambles away from her, his eyes wide and fearful. Sarah doesn’t understand what he says, but the desperation breaks her heart.
She holds her hands out in front of her as though she’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Okay. Okay, Bucky, I won’t touch you. I’m sorry.”
Bucky only shakes his head, standing and pressing himself back against the corner of her kitchen. His eyes flicker all over, as though he’s looking for a way out or surveying for other people that could be hiding in the shadows. His chest rises and falls too quickly for him to really be getting the oxygen he needs and she worries about how close he is to hyperventilating.
Sarah stays where she is on the floor, not wanting to scare him by getting up too quickly. Bucky’s phone in her pocket feels heavy. She’s out of her depth here. She needs Sam.
The ice maker in the freezer drops a row of ice, the cubes clattering into the tray loudly and Sarah flinches at the sudden noise, but Bucky’s entire demeanor changes in that moment. His whole body is suddenly on alert, back ramrod straight as his face turns blank. He's moving as though on autopilot as his hand darts out to grab a knife from the block next to him. It’s the same knife she had given him earlier to chop the peppers. The same knife he cleaned while wearing yellow dish gloves. He holds it in a bruising grip now, defensive, his knuckles white. She shuffles back a bit, hating that she has to. She isn’t afraid of him.
“Bucky, you don’t need that. You’re safe here.” She pleads with him, but he just looks at her, his eyes shifting to the left and back.
He moves and Sarah stops breathing. She doesn’t think he’ll hurt her, she really doesn’t, but she doesn’t know where his head is at right now. She doesn’t want him to hurt himself either.
Sarah scrambles up onto her knees as he gets closer, trying to be ready to jump back if need be. Except Bucky doesn’t make a move to react. His eyes look hollow as he stares into her own. She whispers his name again and there’s still just nothing.
Crouching down in front of her, Bucky flips the knife in his hand, his fingers on the blade and the handle pointed towards her. The breath leaves her lungs in a shaky exhale. Is he… is he asking her to take it?
“Прекращение использования актива.”
That’s Russian. She’s pretty sure it was Russian this time, but she still has no idea what he said and it’s starting to frustrate her beyond belief. The only thing she can think of, the only thing she really wants to do, is get the knife away from him. So, with trembling fingers, she takes it.
As soon as the knife slips from his hand, Bucky crashes to his knees so roughly Sarah wonders how well his enhanced healing works against bruising. She stands up, immediately holding the knife behind her back, where it would be harder for him to take it again, and pulls his phone out of her pocket.
“Bucky, I’m just going to call someone, okay?” There’s no movement to say he heard her at all. His eyes stay trained on the kitchen tiles. “He can help.”
The passcode is Sam’s birthday. She used to tease Bucky for that endlessly until he told her it’s the only birthday he can seem to remember besides Steve’s. Even more than his own.
The phone only rings twice before Sam picks up. The time is an hour ahead where he is. He was probably already awake and getting ready for a run. He always wakes up so early when he’s not in Delacroix.
“Buck? You okay?” Sam speaks quickly, worried. The sounds of an early morning city filter through the speaker and a gust of wind turns everything staticky for a moment. He’s outside.
“Sam.” She says softly, her eyes on Bucky. “Something happened. I don’t know what to do.”
There’s a rustling on the other end, a car door closing and muting the world around him. “Sarah? Why are you on Bucky’s phone? Is he okay?”
Sarah feels the sting of tears in her eyes and she grits her teeth to hold them back. Bucky needs her right now. She can cry when this is over.
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t know what happened. He woke me up, pacing around the kitchen and talking to himself in this weird language. He seemed so confused. I think he thought I was Becca?”
The name causes a small twitch in Bucky’s shoulders, but that’s it. He stays so impossibly still. Sarah flexes her fingers on the knife still behind her back, the hair rising on her skin.
“Did he stay the night there? How was he when he went to bed?” Sam asks. He starts the car. Sarah can hear the engine turn over.
“No, that’s just it, I don’t know. I don’t know when he got here. He left after dinner and said he’ll just sleep on the boat. I tried to get him to stay, but he wouldn’t.” She breathes through the tremble in her voice. She shouldn’t feel guilty for this. Bucky is a grown man, after all, but she’s never seen him like this. It’s terrifying. “Sam, he handed me a knife. Why would he do that?”
Her brother curses softly, she can hear the sound of his car speeding up.
“He’s dissociating, Sarah. He probably doesn’t know where he is. He might just assume you’re another handler.”
Sarah feels sick. She’s never asked for the details of what happened to Bucky during his time as a prisoner for Hydra. It wasn’t her place to ask for details. That’s not her world, that's Sam's world. However, she is Sam’s sister and she watches the news. She’s learned enough to know that these handlers treated Bucky as a weapon more than a human being. She knows he doesn’t recognize her right now, but the idea that he could see her in any relation to those men has her stomach dropping.
“What does that have to do with the knife, Sam?”
“You’re unarmed, Sarah. From what he’s told me, handlers were supposed to be armed. In– in case.”
In case of what? Sarah stares down at Bucky on the ground, her brows furrowed so deeply with the worry in her chest. From this position, with her standing over him, he looks as though he’s kneeling for an execution. In case? In case they had to punish him? In case they had to kill him? Oh, god. She wants to throw up.
“Sam, tell me what to do. Please.” A tear drips down her face and she wipes it away with the back of her hand, realizing at the same time that the knife is still clasped in her fingers. She drops it onto the island, the sound of the blade against the countertop is loud in the quiet kitchen.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I’m not there, but you have to keep talking to him. Don’t– don’t touch him, just talk to him.” There’s a break, Sarah hears the car door open again. “I’m at the hotel. I’m going to grab my wings and fly back. I think I can be there in a couple hours.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Sam. I did what you said and I tried to ground him and I made it worse.” She’s fully crying now, the tears dripping down her cheeks and she hates it. She told herself she wouldn't do this.
“I know. It gets worse sometimes before the fog clears.”
Sarah huffs, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment before taking a deep breath and sinking down onto the floor in front of Bucky. Her knees are only inches from his and she wants so badly to just hug him, but she can’t. Not right now. Not when a simple hand on his wrist sent him scrambling away from her. She knows enough to know that if she does something, and Bucky hurts her, he’ll never forgive himself.
“Sarah, I can’t talk while I’m flying. I don’t have my comms and it’ll be too loud.” Sam sounds nearly angry at the fact, the worry not only for Bucky but for her too now.
Her eyes lift to the sky. She’s a southern woman, through and through, but she’s never been too religious before. She could really use a god right now. One willing to listen, at least.
“Okay. Okay, I’ll try. You better get here fast, Sam.”
There’s a few more words exchanged before Sam hangs up and then Sarah is alone, again, with her friend suffering in front of her. She keeps her hands on her knees, resisting the urge to comfort.
“Bucky, who do you think I am?” They didn’t give him a name when they had him. She’s going to make sure she keeps using it. “I’m not your handler. I’m Sarah. I’m Sam’s sister. Come on, you know Sam.”
She can see the way it flickers across his face; the break in the facade. His vibranium arm whirs as he clenches his fist.
“Sam.” The whispered response has her gasping.
“Yes! Yes, Sam. Sam is on his way home, Bucky.”
Bucky lifts his hands to his head again, pressing his palms into his eye sockets as though he were in pain. Maybe he is. Sarah has no way of telling.
She remembers a time that feels like ages ago, back when Bucky was still this strange, mysterious guy her brother brought home. Sam always had a penchant for taking in strays and she assumed this one would be no different. Then a boat engine backfired one day while Bucky had been outside with Cass and AJ.
She didn’t think much of it, the sound a common occurrence with old man Charlie insisting on using spare parts to fix a too far gone engine. Sam, though, he had been up and out of his seat so quickly it crashed back onto the tiled floor. Sarah followed him outside to see Bucky with both her sons in his arms, a hand on the back of each of their heads, forcing them down as he cradled their bodies close and covered them with his own.
Sam had told the boys to stay still, that they won’t be hurt but that Bucky needed them not to try and break free. It had taken almost ten minutes for Sam to convince the other man that there wasn’t a threat in their backyard. That there was no one shooting at them and that Cass and AJ were safe. When he finally did let go of the boys and stood up, his right calf was soaked in blood.
It was the Fall season. They had been raking leaves. Somewhere in the haste, Cass had managed to let go of his rake as Bucky grabbed him and the cheap tool broke under the weight of a super soldier, sending jagged metal into his leg. He stayed kneeling on it the entire time it had taken to talk him down. He never said a thing. Never even flinched.
“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. My name is Sarah Wilson. My children call you Uncle Bucky.” She sniffles, trying to keep her voice even as she rambles. “You had cereal for breakfast this morning. You said cereal never had so much sugar when you were a kid and that it was like eating dessert as soon as you wake up. I gave you an orange and said it balances out and you laughed.”
Bucky whimpers and the sound hits her straight in the chest. She’s never heard a man so large sound so weak before.
“You love Sam and he loves you and I swear if one of you doesn’t propose soon I’m gonna lose it.” That would normally be a joke, but this time she can’t force the usual teasing chuckle from her throat. She realizes just how badly she wants Bucky to officially be a part of her family.
She’s so sick of talking to herself.
“Bucky, can you please look at me?” She pleads and she’s startled by the fact that he actually does . His hands fall to his lap and his normal blue eyes are a stormy grey in the darkness of the kitchen “Do you know who I am?”
“Sarah.”
She wants to melt into the floorboards. She gathers her braids over her shoulder, wanting them off her neck. “Are you saying that because you know or because I just told you?”
“I don’t– I was at the boat. I fell asleep. I– I shouldn’t have. It was too cold…” his brows furrow and his eyes flicker from the tiles, to the door, and back to her. “Did I push you?”
“It wasn’t your fault.” She says, because after everything, the last thing she’s going to do is lie to him.
“Oh my god.” Bucky’s face turns impossibly pale at the realization. His eyes flicker towards the stairs and he wipes a hand across his mouth as though he’s trying to keep from being sick. “The boys. Did I hurt the boys?”
“No!” She answers, a bit too harshly, but she has to make him understand. “You could never.”
Bucky gets up, stumbling around like his head still isn’t all there. He winces, just barely, but Sarah is watching him so closely of course she sees it. She’s seen the migraines Bucky gets sometimes, the way they put him out. Sam told her once they were a side effect. She didn’t ask what of.
“Bucky, you should lie down. Sam will be home in a few hours, maybe you can just sleep this–“
“No! No, I can’t.” Bucky strained voice interrupts. “I can’t trust myself to sleep again.”
“Okay, well here’s a crazy concept, what if I trust you?” Her hands rise to her hips as she gives him a challenging look, as if to say “go ahead and try to deny it”. Because he’s got another thing coming if he thinks this small instance is going to keep her from letting him sleep comfortably in her home.
He looks at her, his eyes pleading. “I hurt you, Sarah.”
“Oh please, James Buchanan Barnes, get over yourself. I am not that fragile. You think a small shove is going to break me?” She scoffs, then smiles sadly, her voice lowering. “You were scared and confused and I shouldn’t have touched you. It was my fault.”
Bucky shakes his head to deny or disagree, she doesn't care which. Not when that awful, pained noise slips from between his lips. He swallows, bringing a hand to rest of the back of his neck, his fingers digging in to where skull meets spine. The sight of Bucky harming himself, hitting his own head with the force he would use to incapacitate a threat, is a memory she would rather not have.
The clock on the oven glares at Sarah as Bucky stumbles by it. 4:26 AM. It’s felt like hours since she was woken up. It hasn’t even been forty-five minutes yet. She’s tired, but Bucky looks more drained than she’s ever seen him. How long had he been wandering around, on the docks, out on the street, until he finally made it to her kitchen? With the way his mental state had been, what if he had fallen in the water and drowned? Bucky may be a super soldier, but he can still die, same as any other person. Steve Rogers was able to die and boy does she have a bone to pick with him when she gets to wherever he is now.
Sarah Wilson decides she’s not going to let Bucky out of her sight again for the rest of his stay here. Not unless Sam is with him and Sam is not leaving again. She’ll talk to Ross herself if she needs to, even if it means she’s the one flying to D.C. in a star spangled suit.
“Come on, Bucky. At least lay on the couch. For me? All this stumbling around, you’re going to break something.” She’s not really concerned about anything breaking, she already has one cupboard door to replace anyway, but the possibility of it has Bucky sighing deeply.
His eyes close as he lays his palms flat on her countertop. This early in the morning, the faux marble would be cool to the touch. Bucky hates the cold. She’s going to grab the biggest fluffiest blanket she has from the hall closet.
“Alright.” He says softly, heading towards the living room without looking at her. Sarah purses her lips, but follows after him.
The hall closet is stocked with blankets. You can never have too many for a Louisiana winter. A Delacroix winter, surrounded by the water like they are, is a whole new ballgame. The warmest blanket she can find is one Cass used to keep on his bed before he grew up and claimed he was too old for it. She is sure the boy would get a kick out of his uncle using the Lego themed fleece.
Closing the closet door, she turns to find Bucky laying flat on the couch like he said he would. He’s on his back, stiff with his arms folded over his chest. When he noticed her, he sits up.
“I’m not sleeping, Sarah.” He tells her. She rolls her eyes.
“I know, but you are going to relax and the house is cool so humor me.”
She gives him the blanket and he holds it in his arms for a second, staring down at it as though it will come alive and swallow him whole. Eventually, he does lie down again, spreading the blanket over him and pulling the material up to his chin. He shudders, turning on his side to stare out at the living room. That gaze, those damn eyes, still look far too haunted for Sarah’s liking.
The arm of the couch above Bucky’s head seems to be the perfect place for her to perch. When Sam comes in, he’ll come in the door off to the side there, in perfect view of where Bucky is lying. So she sits and she’ll wait here with him for as long as it takes.
Except, Bucky keeps jerking every few minutes and Sarah frowns, looking down at him. His eyes blink slowly, his long lashes brushing against his cheeks. Every time they seem to stay closed for just a bit too long, Bucky snaps them back open.
“Hey Bucky?” She asks and it’s so minuscule, but she can see the way his shoulders flinch. “Can I touch you?”
It takes a long while for Bucky to answer. So long that Sarah is about to apologize and rescind the offer when she hears the small, breathless, and trembling word.
“Okay.”
With permission this time, Sarah reaches out to the man on her couch that she has started to feel way too motherly towards. Her fingers brush the side of his temple first and when all she receives in response is a tired sigh, she starts to run her fingers through his hair.
Slowly, carefully, she brushes the strands from his face. Her nails gently scratch against his scalp every once in a while and she can practically feel the way he relaxes under her fingertips. His hair is tangled, but she slips over the worst of the knots as she smooths out the rest of it. It’s gotten longer again. Sam has told her cutting it gets difficult sometimes.
She thinks she spaces out for a while, but when she focuses again, she can hear the soft breaths coming from the man next to her. Bucky’s eyes are closed and they stay closed. She smiles in success.
A bit later, though much sooner than she expected, she can hear the telltale sound of thrusters powering down and metal sliding against metal as something heavy lands along the rocks of her driveway.
Sam comes through the door looking as though he had just come out of a wind tunnel, though, with as fast as he must have been flying, she supposes he technically had. His face softens when he spots them on the couch, the relief that crosses his features speaking a thousand words.
“How is he?” Sam whispers, shrugging his wings off by the door before dropping to his knees in front of the couch.
“He’s been asleep for a little while now. Sam, I–“ the sudden emotion thickening her throat surprises her and she bites her lip.
Sam grabs her hand in his own, squeezing it once and she nods gratefully. She doesn’t need to tell him, he understands.
When Sam fits himself onto the edge of the couch cushions Bucky isn’t currently taking up, she decides she’ll leave the other man in his hands now. She’s definitely not getting to sleep again, not after all that, so she just heads back into the kitchen and gets to work on making a fresh pot of coffee. She has a feeling Sam isn’t going to be sleeping either any time soon.
As the steady drip of dark liquid begins to fill the glass pot, Sarah's ears pick up on a quiet murmuring coming from the living room.
Peering around the wall, she watches as her brother, so softly, cradles Bucky’s face in his hands. They say something to each other, too quiet for her to make out, and then her brother leans down. He kisses Bucky on the cheek first, then his forehead. He lingers for a moment until he finally places his own forehead against the spot his lips had been.
Sarah turns back to the coffee pot, allowing them this moment.
She was exhausted from the sheer amount of emotions she’d cycled through in the last few hours. It was so much, but to see that look of peace in her brother’s face as he stares down at the man he loves?
Sarah would do it all over again in a heartbeat.