Trouble, Man
They didn’t stay long enough to wait for Bucky to wake up this time either. Between the world governments on high alert searching for the Winter Soldier, keeping their promises to the Wakandan government, and Hydra cells tenaciously continuing attempts of world domination after SHIELD's downfall, Sam couldn’t indulge his itch to keep vigil as much in the beginning as he wanted to.
Consequently, his schedule somehow stretched thinner and thinner. He remained a backup to Steve and the Avengers, infiltrating and decommissioning bases with any hint of ties to Nazis or Russians. He never formally signed up for the Avengers, despite Tony Stark’s incessant recruitment tactics. He refused every time. When Steve asked him why, he simply shrugged.
"I like the freedom."
That freedom was spent assisting Natasha with the game of politics, mostly tagging along in case she could use the company and an extra set of eyes to watch her six. Whenever he had a Monday between these meetings and conventions, he stopped by his VA clinic for a check in on his old patients.
It was a good thing to do, he knew that it was important to reach out to old communities, however It felt odd to revisit them sometimes. He felt out of place hearing all the congratulations and thank you's , simultaneously missing the simplicity of his old life before anyone knew of his real accomplishments.
During one particular group session, that confusing feeling kept gnawing at him, stealing his focus away. Suddenly, intrusive thoughts of regret distracted him from one of the vet’s own wonders of the life she could’ve had she never enrolled into the Army. Before he could get too lost in his own head, icy blue eyes filled with hope and a cocky smirk reminded him of why he took the chance in the first place, refocusing on her story.
Despite being able to tune back in, and close out the session successfully- charming smiles and all -he stopped attending after that one. Something about those unprompted thoughts of Bucky unsettled him too much to attend. Although Sam, like the committed man he is, continued to review VA emails and sent supportive messages out on cargo planes whenever they weren’t debriefing. He paired these moments with catching up on Delacroix life, and the misadventures of Sara, Jody and the boys before big missions.
Even though it added an extra pile of stress, keeping their promise to Wakanda positively meant the opportunity to check on Bucky. To maintain their joint sanity, Sam, Steve and Natasha were only able to spare time in cycle, almost never being able to visit together. They used gaps between abroad missions, African political conventions and ‘personal time’ as viable excuses no one questioned too deeply. Despite their easy formula, over the next year and a half, he only managed to see Bucky awake a total of three times, which was apparently one more than the other two in his team were graced with.
The first time happened after 2 months of a concerningly ‘lucid and borderline charming James Barnes’, Princess Shuri reported on beginning preparations for the second round of cryo to conduct a fully diagnostic panel of the trigger words. Unfortunately, much to her chagrin, Natasha had an important political seminar to attend in opposition of Avenger regulation before Bucky’s due date. Sam and Steve didn’t fare much better, barely catching him an hour before he was supposed to go under.
That moment they stepped off the quinjet, Bucky met them with open arms and a smile as easy as the wind blowing his long hair.
Sam choked at the sight, unable to move much further from the hangar. Bucky hugged Steve like the first time they met in Sam's kitchen, and made a movement as if he was going to make his way over to what Sam internally begged would be a hug, before the Princess interrupted their reunion to usher them inside for preliminaries. Bucky stuck by Steve's side, detailing his adventures and listening to Steve's own, but when he sent a wink over his shoulder and a knowing smile, Sam found himself unable to focus on their banter. Eventually, when Steve finally excused himself to talk to Shuri more about the process, Bucky leaned against the white exam table, in the same matching linens he was in the first time he awoke. Despite being eager earlier, Sam suddenly felt awkward the moment the Steve shaped buffer stepped away from their little corner of the lab.
“So-”
Are you excited? No! Why would he be excited to go into a medically induced coma?
How’ve you been? Steve already asked that fuck I zoned out.
Do you remember us cuddling and spending the night together-
“Hey.”
Very clever-
Bucky just laughed at his nerves, the sound akin to another ocean breeze calming Sam's nerves before replying with a soft “hey yourself”, while pulling him into a hug. He sagged into Bucky's arms, like he was meant to be there the whole time. Arguably, he really wasn't. He knew that. They never hugged before the mission, or were technically anything . Bucky didn’t promise anything, but the look in his eyes when he held his cheek, holding him in his arms months ago…Sam couldn't convince himself to hide. Feeling Bucky's firm arm on his shoulder and notably warm hand this time against his neck, simply confirmed the Bucky sized hole in his chest he didn’t even realize he’d been walking around with.
Shit.
Neither one of them moved for a few minutes. Bucky just kept stroking Sam’s neck, and sighed in relief as if he missed Sam. His brain caught up and he returned the hug, pulling them closer together. He got a whiff of something as he dared to bury his face a little more into Bucky's hair.
“Are you…wearing cologne right now?”
Sam peeked red creeping into Bucky’s neck, with a barely comprehensible “Maybe. I’d never seen the fragrance before.” Reducing Sam into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. After a few minutes and a glare from Shuri, he had since regained most of his control, but mirth remained in Bucky’s eyes until the moment the lid closed on the translucent casket.
Honestly, Sam didn’t know if Bucky remembered the future. He didn’t even know how much he remembered from the mission, but that hug gave him hope, like a desperate schoolgirl surviving on breadcrumbs as signs from God. It made him agitated, the imminent way his brain felt like it was going manic, replaying the same two memories of their hug and his eyes before the casket shut - over, and over and over again through the coming weeks.
Bucky's grin flashed when Sam kicked a gun out of a terrorist's hand. Bucky's eyes appeared when Sarah told a joke over the phone. He felt Bucky's arms when a Hydra agent surprised him from behind.
He didn’t even understand why it was happening, only that the image of him stuck to Sam's frontal lobe as stubbornly as the man stalked him in D.C.
Eventually, he realized that what he did know was that he had to do something about it. As a result, every time he had to stop in Wakanda for training, he bided his time until most of the castle was asleep.
Whether it’d be waking up extra early, or staying up late and regretting it in the morning, he snuck into the lab to, of all things, read to Bucky.
He began with reading the remainder of The Ones We’re Meant to Find, a book Bucky was forced to abandon halfway at his house, before restarting from irritation at not understanding what he was reading. Finally, he sniffed as he shut the back cover, Bucky's face just as impassive as when Sam started reading. “Damn, you sure know how to pick them.”
Then he read through Stranger In a Strange Land, “Where was the sex scene? I don’t understand why you wanted to read this-” before moving onto Fahrenheit 451, “This just makes me sad -” and breezing through Legends & Lattes, “You seem like a cafe guy, you’re really good at cooking-” and could barely make it through Before Your Memory Fades without sobbing, “Dammit man am I glad you’re a popsicle-”.
Now if someone asked why Sam decided to read to a man who definitely couldn’t hear him was a good idea, or an idea at all, he’d shrug his shoulders. He knew Bucky liked reading, and seemed to serve as some form of simultaneous entertainment and escapism. There were several times during their week together his energy seemed almost frantic while reading, and clearly not because of his interest in the story. Sam would usually attempt to keep him quiet company during those times, understanding the man was probably reflecting on reliving one giant triggering nightmare. So, Sam reasonably concluded the first time he sat next to Bucky, it was either read to Bucky, or sit staring at his frosted expressionless face, and Sam couldn’t handle looking for more than five minutes without feeling a deeply gutted loneliness.
Finishing five books somehow translated to six months, before Shuri announced they were going to wake him up again to evaluate the effects of their poking and prodding, along with allowing him some more time to fill those ‘swiss cheese holes’. Sam hadn’t felt more excited to see Bucky, clearing his schedule for a whopping day and a half. Walking into the lab and seeing Bucky stretch on the exam table with a flirt on his tongue died immediately upon seeing Bucky's blank gaze.
After a very stilted and awkward conversation about how Steve was doing, Sam came to realize the man was practically a blank slate since 1944. He pulled Shuri off to the side, gracefully starting very slowly, “He doesn’t remember anything.”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t-” Sam halted, reigning in his fears and anger because this was the only person who could fix him. “Didn’t you warn us about this?”
“I did. I told you before, his brain will be doing its thing. He didn’t forget you, he just doesn’t remember right now . It is not because of our tests, or the induced coma.”
With her firm correction, what else could he do but leave, already making plans to leave this visit early after training tomorrow. He was already practically out the door, calling over his shoulder with a “Good seeing you Barnes”.
“I’m coming with you.”
Pointed, direct, purposeful. As if he was right behind him.
Sam stopped dead in his tracks. He turned slowly, in heightened anticipation.
Bucky was making small talk with Shuri, even smiling easier than their own conversation.
After watching them for a minute or two, unable to hear anything practical over his pounding heart, Sam shook his head as if that’d fix the fog.
“Crazy. Time for bed.” Huffing quietly at himself for not maintaining a decent sleep schedule, a similar feeling from the group session began to weigh on his shoulders.
It began to settle in his shoulders, and permeate through his neck. He didn’t even notice until he did, inching distractingly further and further.
“Oh-King-I mean Prince T’Challa, I’m sorry!” Sam shoulder checked the damn Prince of Wakanda, shame and embarrassment thankfully clearing his mind.
T’Challa chuckled, the regal aura making Sam feel small. “Flattery will get you nowhere Sam. For the hundredth time, I'm the prince, and insist you call me T’Challa.”
Sam simply nodded, feeling guilty about his repeated mistake. He learned of King T’Challa, not Prince T’Challa from Bucky, and upon first arriving to Wakanda, it was a noticeable correction the Prince had to make on Sam's part. He excused it as bad intel, but Sam kept making the subconscious mistake over the months, no matter how much he practiced in front of the mirror.
Add it to the list of things Sam wanted to chalk up to a lack of sleep.
“Just coming from visiting Sergeant Barnes?”
Sam shifted in his spot, not really feeling up to casual conversation after being wrongfully heartbroken; but he was nothing if not a people pleaser, especially to a man who is a superhero cat prince.
“Yeah.”
T’Challa raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow - everyone's hair in Wakanda is perfect. “I take it didn’t go very well?”
“He doesn’t remember me. For now, Princess Shuri said. It’ll take time.”
“Oh, that’s…I’m sorry Sam. I see how much he means to you. And Steve.” The you felt pointed, but he chose to ignore it.
“It’s okay. I trust her, and trust the process. Once again we are extremely grateful for your help. I could never thank you enough.”
Sam immediately regretted the comment. The look in T’Challas face suddenly sharpened, reminding Sam he couldn’t truly relax in Wakanda. For a moment, Sam thought he was going to be interrogated right in the middle of the West wing corridor. Although, he could tell it wasn’t truly personal. The unease that comes with housing complete strangers that just knew things could be a precarious risk to take on.
“You know it is a risk on both sides Sam, especially if my sister can’t help your Barnes. We can only be grateful for the honesty between our parties.” A quasi threatening hand met Sam's shoulder as his expression intensified despite breaking eye contact. The weight of his people and choices showed plainly on the young man's face at that moment. It was clear whether he was made king now or later, he was more than capable.
“What happens now, determines what happens to the rest of the world Sam. Do you understand that?”
Once again, Sam’s skin prickled with something cold and unrecognizable. His heart felt vacant at T’Challa's words, echoing as if he’d heard them before. As T'Challa's hand fell, Sam could only swallow thickly, nodding in agreement.
T’Challa grinned, catlike. “Don’t look stiff, Falcon, or you'll have to train harder to keep up with Ayo.”
He didn’t move for a while after T’Challa left. The same spot where the gold striations met the white textured panels on the wall entranced him for what felt like hours.
That night, he couldn't sleep. T'Challas' words kept running up the folds of his brain. Something kept rattling around, more than his words, until it blended into his mind with the strange feelings and Bucky’s words.
Needless to say, he left immediately after training in the morning. The unsettled feeling haunting him throughout the day.
Just like the veteran support group, he planned on avoiding Wakanda for a while.
That solution didn’t solve his insomnia. In Delacroix, in New York, in Washington DC, in Nafplio, in Abuja, in Medellin. No matter where he went, he could hardly sleep. Constant stress knotted his shoulders, even on easy missions and his days off. While it was because of the bizarre feelings that seemed to have a personal goal of driving Sam crazy, the real test began after Medellin.
By some grace of spirits above, he managed to have one good night before his return flight. Sleeping until 12pm, he awoke with a fresh mind. Sam smiled, and he couldn’t remember the last time his shoulders felt so light. He decided to take his time packing his things, stroll around plazas, chatting up locals and wind down by purchasing some fresh pan de bono's off the corner of Provenza. All in all, Sam was feeling pretty good.
“It’s cute when you smile like that.”
Sam choked, coughing out every crumb of the delicious cheese bread onto an unsuspecting chihuahua.
It was clear, sleep or no sleep, he’d just keep hearing Bucky with no context.
“Sweetheart.” In Toronto.
“Don’t worry about it.” in Houston.
“Careful with those guns, Samuel.” in Santiago.
Hearing the man was one thing. Sure, Sam could chalk it up to missing him, mental health, no rest, pick your poison. How could he explain that they were morphing into phrases he’d never heard Bucky say? That they were becoming increasingly more and more flirtatious?
Sometimes he’d laugh thinking about it. Was he that down bad? Was he that crazy over an acquaintance's blue eyes? There had to be something he could do to fix this insanity.
He went to Delacroix for a week. A full week of vacation, unheard of since this whole mess started. He ate home cooked meals, played outside with the boys, caught a beer or three with his brother in law, stayed away from screens and even changed his sleep schedule for an extra hour.
It worked.
Or so he thought.
At the airport, on his last day in Delacroix, he glanced behind his shoulder on the escalator to wave bye to his family.
From the step below his, Bucky looked up from his phone and smiled. Sam blinked and it was a stranger, who was Asian. Black hair, dark eyes. Their only similarity was their build, and the man looked up at Sam as if to ask “what?”.
Sam threw up breakfast in the bathroom, rattled at the vivid visual.
At this point, Sam began breaking.
The airport incident was the only time he truly saw Barnes in front of him. From then on, when he saw Bucky, it was more of snapshots of a memory, flashing before his eyes usually quicker than he could register. It happened in his dreams, during mission debriefs and even during moments of peace, when walking with Natasha on the way to their next meeting, or sharing a coffee with Steve.
Each time he was around someone he trusted, the mania and fear threatened to spill from his tongue. They didn’t occur every day, but it felt like the frequency and intensity accumulated slowly. That feeling that something was missing, something was coming, ebbed at his core and increased in strength along with the delusions and the deja vu more and more each day.
He tried to ignore it, he really did. For his sake of being unable to explain himself without sounding obsessive, and in hopes it’d just go away. He tried distracting himself with stimuli and missions, but it seemed his body had turned on him as well. When a sudden shock of adrenaline and doom prevented him from defending Steve's knee in the middle of the training, he blamed stress. When sitting in multiple conferences with Natasha, waves of sudden cold goosebumps dug needles into his skin almost every time, forcing himself to excuse from attending them with her indefinitely. When being tossed a weapon in training or even on missions, he failed to register it every time. He kept getting beat up, and crippled in the field quicker and quicker, until finally Jarvis benched him indefinitely based on his questionable performance.
The only therapy that eased the physical and emotional insanity seemed to be research. On anything and everything. Bucky's warnings lately found a permanent home in his mind, creating a mission to find what exactly the POW meant without any of the necessary clues. He buried himself in his laptop, missed communication from old contacts at the VA, from the Avengers and even Sara. After a week and a half of going AWOL, Steve visited him out of concern, and while Sam didn’t remember a word they exchanged, he charmed his way out of Steve's confessional puppy dog eyes.
Sam's reasoning was that there was no way he could confess everything he felt about Bucky in a comprehensive way. That other people, like Natasha, Steve, the VA, T’Challa and even his own sister started infecting him in suffocating ways.
It had been going on seven months since he’d last seen Bucky, and almost three weeks of self isolation. If Sam thought his mental health couldn’t get any worse, it was the third time he saw Bucky awake that the proverbial avalanche triggered.
Funnily enough, it was the best damn time of his life.