One of the clearest memories Sam has of Steve is one he’d rather forget.
A bridge, cold harsh words coming out of his own mouth (so easily, too easily) and the look on Steve’s face. Disappointment (Sam was always disappointing people then, letting things fall - words, fists, partners) and determination. One look and Sam could tell he would never be able to listen to his advice, whether or not he wanted to. Even if the only thing the Winter Soldier and James Barnes shared was a face, it was too loved a face to whiten with death or bruise with damage. Sam can’t blame him, god of all people Sam couldn’t blame him.
“I don’t know if I can do that,” says Steve (he did know) (he couldn’t) (they both knew). ‘I don’t think he’s the kind you save’ still rattles in Sam's head some days, even now, blackens with guilt and a twisted kind of anger. But those days, Riley’s ghost still followed him everywhere he went, banging pots and loud static, stomping in military assigned boots, full of anger and fading memories, a yelling voice no one else could hear. Sam wonders how many ghosts there are, haunting people's footsteps and sleep, out there, without anyone else realizing, wonders how everyone deals with it so calmly, where this myth of quiet ghosts comes from. Riley was much louder in death than he ever was in life. So Sam followed Steve.
Sam followed Steve (again and again and again and again) and watched as he seemed to try to get himself killed (but he never did, he never seemed to be able to), following a man who didn’t remember him. Chasing his ghost.
(But Sam gets to fly. God he- up and above, catching air and wind, up, up, there’s a ghost chasing him, diving and twirling in circles but in the whistling wind the screams can almost be mistaken for laughter and he can breath again - in and out full of clear cool air - he can breathe.) (sometimes he would wonder if maybe he wasn't the one left behind, if maybe he was doing the haunting, Riley’s ghost often felt more alive than he did)
A lot happens very fast and Steve loses his ghost; or maybe it’s the other way around- his ghost runs away, vanishes as spirits tend to do. Except Steve’s ghost rips steering wheels out of (new) cars and pulls drowning men out of rivers. Because of course he does. Because it’s Steve Rogers. (Buck was always saving me, says Steve) (Sam says nothing) (they both failed at catching their ghosts) (only, only Steve’s came back with bones and warm breathes) So Sam is sent on a ghost hunt.
He’s almost grateful. An escape, a reasonable excuse taking him far far away from too empty rooms and people who know him too well. It’s almost like he’s getting loads of small -fully paid for- holidays except for the now-two men haunting street ends and hotel room corners (it almost three except… well he can just call Steve). Sam had never been to Europe before - never been outside of the states for anything but war - but Steve’s ghost drags him to Paris and Berlin and Amsterdam and he struggles through language after language and sees sight after sight and finally visits old friends after decade long promises, chasing, chasing, chasing.
After a while, Steve’s ghost starts leaving clues (always empty, false hopes) (is he hoping?) that led him to good restaurants and beautiful walks (and that one time an apparently famous falconry, which fine, yes, made him laugh). It feels like a gentle scolding, a reminder to eat when he forgets or to take a moment of peace when he needs it, so he lets himself be dragged along, and this ghost starts to feel less threatening, less heavy, more like a warm presence he doesn’t mind having around until he has to go back home, back to Steve with nothing but food recommendations and new songs.
And then, all of a sudden, a lot more things happen and not only does he meet Steve’s not-ghost, he’s stuck in the same safe house as him for two weeks.
James Barnes is a stereotypical ghost - quiet and pale, soundless footsteps and sleepless nights. Except that he’s alive of course. (Well, about as alive as Sam) They play a lot of card games (Barnes stares at them very blankly the first time and loses horrifically and Sam starts to feel good about himself but then the other man seems to remember and wins every single time after) (whatever, he’s not bitter) while Steve goes to meet Natasha and makes a lot of phone calls or watch bad tv while he sleeps, but as soon as he comes back, Sam leaves to his own room.
He can’t watch Steve watch Barnes and somehow watching Barnes watch Steve is almost more painful (if, god if Riley ever looked at him like that, confused and weary and hesitant, Sams not sure what he’d do) (not that this is about that) (of course not). Two pairs of blue eyes watch him go. Barnes understands, Sam thinks. He’s good at that Barnes. He’s good at most things, Sams learnt. Doesn’t press, doesn’t ask, gives space. Then again, Barnes was dealing with more than enough shit, Barnes is always dealing with more than enough shit. Steve was hurt. Sometimes it’s impossible not to hurt Steve. (Sam was always hurting people then - see? Always letting them down)
They ate a lot of pasta. Barnes and him tried to make popcorn once and burnt it to inediblity. They were fine really overall, those two weeks.
Sam holds Steve while he cries after Barnes goes into the ice, awkwardly patting his back as he whispers his own small goodbye to the not-ghost.
Much to Steve’s disappointment, he only goes to visit Wakanda once afterwards, once Barnes is defrosted. Meets the goats and wonders if they help, if he could ever just settle anywhere and simply find peace but looking at the dark circles under Barnes' empty eyes doesn’t let himself really consider it. Probably not. It’s fine. Whatever. He lost the person he would have wanted to settle and find peace with. He can just keep doing this until it’s his turn to be shot out of the sky.
Then Steve leaves.
Steve leaves and Sam thinks, this is a little excessive. This is a little too much. Nat’s gone and Riley’s gone and Steve leaves, just like that, and it’s starting to be a little much, his band of ghosts. He leaves, and he leaves Sam with a slab of expensive metal, like that can make up for anything and Sam isn’t even sure he wants it. Like it’s someone else’s . It was someone’s else’s. It was Steve’s. Steve’s ghost is quieter than Riley’s but only because Sams pretty sure it can feel his anger.
And then fucking Barnes disappears for months. The only person who knew Steve like Sam. The only person who’s supposed to be grieving with him. The person who let Steve leave. (Barnes knew and even then, Sam knew that Barnes had known, had just let Steve go) (Steve never told him) (whatever)
Sam does a lot of staring at his tv screen and going for long long runs and everywhere he goes, his ghosts follow him.
But eventually Barnes does turn up again. To yell at him. Of course. The only quiet ghost Sam knows has found his voice. (Or does Sam count as a ghost? Sometimes he thinks yes) (he does his fair share of haunting old spots, cold where he used to be warm) But Barnes did not act like Sam's other ghosts (he’s alive for one) (maybe Sam should stop thinking of him as a ghost). When he follows Sam, grumbling the entire time granted, it's to help, to have his back. He argues and complains and walks too quietly but he also makes Sam eat and drink and sleep and he has his back. It’s weird. Sam doesn’t really know what to do with him but he lets him follow.
It’s almost comforting that Barnes is doing even worse than Sam (because hes as a bad person like that) except Sam really really wishes he would just drop the subject of the shield and oh, not get arrested. And then break out a dangerous criminal who mind controlled him in order to split up the avengers.
The ghosts in his head fade to background noise when Barnes is there, demanding attention even as he does his best to avoid it - or maybe not, after all what an idiot And Sam thought Steve was bad. No, Barnes jumps out of planes, on camera, and breaks out evil masterminds with bad dancing skills and Sam couldn’t understand how he was more mad about that than Barnes. Surely Barnes shouldn’t be so calm about being around the man who used him and took away his ability to control his own hands. But he didn’t seem to care. Sam doesn’t know what to do or say about that because it’s concerning right? Right. He lets it go, just watches Barnes a little closer.
But by the time Barnes turned up at his sisters Sam had gotten used to him. Had started to understand Steve a little bit more. Had been relieved to see him again, something heavy lifting inside, the ghosts calming down and taking a step back. Even more relieved when Barnes agreed to stay. (Just for a bit) (just to help out) (he’ll leave and with that, leave behind a ghost but Sam’s not ready yet, Sams just so glad he’s staying a little longer) Smiling in the sun suits him, Sam thinks. Even if he’s smiling at Sam's sister (which is whatever it’s fine, of course, he’s just, he’s concerned about Sarah) (...yeah).
The sun sets, dragging with it, more slowly, the days heat and Sam finds Bucky (he’s allowed call him Bucky now, though he’s not sure when that happened) sitting in the peer, bare feet dangling just above the water. He looks like one of those paintings people put on postcards that make you ache for something without knowing what it is. Sam sits down beside him, cross legged, fingers playing with his shoelaces.
“Hey.” The difference in him in just a few months is crazy, the warmth filling each line and curl of his hair. Sam never noticed how breakable he looked before. “Thanks for letting me stay on the couch again.” Bucky has a way of looking more sincere than anyone he’s ever met and Sam was best friends with Steve Rogers (if best friends abandon each other to go live in separate centuries that is) (anyway).
“No problem.” Sam's words never come out like he’d want them to so he smiles and to his surprise Bucky smiles back before looking away to the water again.
“You’ve got a really nice place,” he says softly, “I didn’t know you had a sister and nephews.” A small frown. “I’m sorry for keeping you away from them for so long.” Oh.
Oh.
“Nah, I was always… always leaving this place. Running off.” Sam shrugs. “Wasn't your fault anyways.” Bucky doesn’t look convinced but he nods and doesn’t press. Easy. The ghosts are quiet. Sam has to ruin everything though. Of course. Always stumbling over things and letting them fall. He regrets the words the moment they leave his mouth. “Where did you go?”
Bucky blinks and turns to look at him, visibly confused.
“When Steve- Steve left and you just disappeared,” clarified Sam, “Where did you go? I thought…” (He has no idea what he thought) Bucky just looks even more confused, eyebrows tightening.
“Don’t you know? I thought you knew?”
“How on earth would I know?”
“I thought they told you,” Sam has a bad feeling and Bucky just looks confused. “I hadn’t been pardoned yet,” - an easy shrug - “I was taken into custody cause no one was sure if I counted as a person or not. Cause I could be a weapon, see? So they had to do a bunch of tests and make sure the trigger words don’t still work and well honestly, I think they were kinda hoping they would so they could use me, you know, but they had to let me go eventually when nothing worked and I got pardoned.” Too carelessly, casual. “I figured you didn’t want to see me cause you didn’t visit or anything and I thought they told you so..” He trails off and Sam feels sick.
“Weren’t sure if you counted as a person?”
“Or a sentient weapon,” nods Bucky.
“What. The. Fuck.” Deep breaths. “I didn’t know.”
“Oh.” Sarah comes out. Bucky smiles and follows her inside and Sam stares at the water. He’s not sure what to do with that information, where to put it. He wishes Steve was here. Steve would’ve asked about Bucky, Steve … had left. Sam follows them in almost too quickly.
Sarah had kept smirking at him during Bucky’s entire first visit and Sam had kept dragging Bucky and his fucking stupid flirting away from her and it was truely an awful hiccup he hadn’t seen coming. Thankfully, his sister didn't say anything until they were leaving , with Bucky distracted by his nephews and Sam distracted by Bucky. (Not… not like that of course, like, like surprised because of how good he was with them, not in a … not in an anything way) (Sarah clearly disagreed)
“It’s been a while since you brought anyone around here.” Siblings, Sam has decided, with a lot of time and reflection, are the worst. She looked so pleased with herself as well.
“It’s not like that.”
“Didn’t say it was.” Sam misses when they were small and he could just cut off all the hair on her dolls. Being a grown up is hard.
“You were implying, don’t you dare say you weren’t imply-“ he begins.
“Ok, ok, he’s cute though, I’ll take him if you don’t.”
Sam had practically dragged a surprised Bucky out of the house.
(Riley’s ghost hadn’t said anything for a long time after that, had just stared and stared and stared until Sam felt sick.)
It had felt like he was collecting ghosts for a while, filling his arms with cold bones and musty souls with too many opinions. One of the main problems with ghosts, you know, is that they’re real enough to haunt and hurt, they were warm and alive once and your memories won’t let you forget it, but they aren’t real enough to acknowledge (he learnt that very quickly after Riley’s death) or to understand that sleep is supposed to be private. Sam was tired, always tired. Ghosts were always shaking him awake, demanding attention. Another thing about the dead - they don’t like being forgotten. Sleep brings an unacceptable detachment and memory blur. Like clockwork at 3:15 (one thing about the dead at least is that just like their deaths they’re always earlier than you’d like) he would wake, selfishly gasping for breath like he’s the one who died.
So the first night after he and Bucky move into Natasha’s now not-so secret apartment (a small but warm place, conveniently placed, full of her. her ghost is calm here. content. ) it’s no surprise that the trend continues. It’s getting boring now, he thinks, this fear and sadness and difficulty all the time, he’s so so sick of it. But that message never seemed to get through to the part of his brain it needed to so he dragged himself out of bed, trembling, too hot and too cold at the same time, to get some water. Maybe by the time he reached the kitchen he would be thirsty enough to drink it.
But Sam had forgotten he wasn’t the only one with ghosts here. Bucky sat cross legged up on the counter beside the stove, washed gentle colours and faded shadows by the soft light above, the only one he dared light for fear of waking Sam apparently. He looked just as tired as Sam felt, wrapped in a massive woolen jumper he had just started to wear all the time and made him look years younger, as he stired a pot with a wooden spoon above the stove. Sam couldn’t believe he could have ever thought of him as a ghost. Bucky Barnes is more alive than anyone Sam has ever met.
“You can cook?” They were the only ones in the aparetment. Sam wasn’t sure why he was whispering. It felt like a whispering moment, like anything louder would ruin it and invite harsher light inside the cocoon. The other man looked surprised though he must have heard Sam come in, maybe he hadn’t expected him to talk. Maybe it was just a stupid question.
“I can’t,” he admitted, just as quietly, cheeks colouring, “I’m making hot chocolate.”
“Oh.” That was almost more surprising than finding out he could cook would be.
“Want some?”
“Hell yeah.”
That gets a small laugh, the kind you try to hold back, chuckled into a shoulder. Bucky points to the fridge, jutting his chin out in a childishly stubborn expression (for what reason? that man was always picking stupid fights, Sam swears to god, Steve your bestie is just determined to be difficult).
“Get yourself some more milk then, I’m not moving, just cause your ass decided to be late.”
“You can’t be late to sometime that was never organized,” argues Sam, even as he moved to get the milk out of the fridge. Bucky gives him a an unimpressed look.
“Sure.”
Sam doesn’t even know how to argue against this man (child honestly) at this point so he just give up, rolling his eyes as he hands over the milk. He leans back against the counter on the other side of the stove from Bucky (leaving a good safe amount of distance between them) as he watches the other man carefully add the extra cold milk to the warming milk.
“Are you supposed to do that?”
“Do what?”
“Like just… add more milk, will it not mess something up?”
“How?”
Sam shrugs and Bucky shrugs back and they move pretty easily on, continuing to whisper as they wait for the milk to heat and then the chocolate to melt into it because Bucky insists on using actual chocolate instead of powder like any normal person. To Sams surprise, they don’t talk about the ghosts hovering at the doorways (but not coming in, kept away from the warmth and safety radiating from the man nodding along to what he’s saying beside him) or work or anything like that. Instead he talks about Sarah and his nephews and his parents and the place he grew up and his boat.
(It’s the best hot chocolate he’s ever had) (you know, if you were wondering)
And the next time Bucky tells him about Brooklyn in the 1920s and 30s and his sister and mother and how he misses them, misses even knowing that they were there somewhere, how weird it was to be in the same place as ever but so different and new, and his father and old friends. And slowly they unravel, sleepless night after sleepless night, whispered story and murmured names and places and dates and Sam lets it all spill out of him, ugly and raw, talks about Riley and all his ghosts and Barnes trades him with halted and broken confessions about Hydra and Steve and things he only half remembers. And they let each other fall apart at their kitchen table with nobody else awake to hear and they hold each other’s hands as they try to glue themselves together again and it doesn’t feel as difficult as it did a few moths ago or even last week.
During the day, they train and bicker and argue and watch bad tv and have each other’s back during risky missions and endless pr meetings and grudgingly build themselves into a perfect team. Sam can tell when Bucky isn’t going to be able to talk as much or engage or pretend to be happy, when he’s hiding an injury or being a little to reckless, and Bucky always steps in to set clear boundaries about paparazzi or interviews when Sams feeling too raw and makes him eat and go to bed and drink water and reminds him to call his sister and friends. At night they drink a lot of hot chocolate and Bucky teaches Sam chess and they talk away the dead always hovering too close and half the time Sam falls asleep on the couch. When he wakes, Bucky is always curled up on the armchair opposite him, mug still carefully clutched in his hand like he’s scared, even in sleep, to drop it.
Slowly, slowly. Slowly, the ghosts fade, slowly little things get easier, slowly he starts to feel more comfortable in what he’s doing and how he’s doing it. The ghosts don’t ever leave but now he can dance to Riley’s favorite song and smile and remember someone I loved used to love this and now it’s still here for me to love them through and his anger hurts less. Slowly he starts to look forward to little stupid things like the pie Bucky managed to not burn for dessert or his newphews 15th birthday. Slowly he starts to be able to sleep though some full nights, so long as Bucky is somewhere near and he feels a little less tired all the time.
He lets Bucky convince him to let him teach him how to dance and their kitchen fills with music and laughter as Sams stumbles after the other man (who never said he could dance like that oh my god) and steps on his toes until Bucky gives in and announces that since Sam is so useless they’ll just have to start with the slow dance.
“It’s so easy,” he teases, and there’s such a light in Bucky eyes now a days and Sam would do anything, he would do anything to keep it there, “Even you should be able to manage Wilson.” Like Sam needs convincing, like Sams ever been able to say no it him. So they sway, hands clasped, in their tiny kitchen that smells of burnt toast permanently now, Bucky humming along to the song and Sams heart hammering hammering away. Knocking to be let out of his chest with his permission. Hush, he tells it, hush, shhhh don’t go hurting yourself when I’ve just managed to stitch you all back up. The music picks up and without a warning, Bucky spins him around and around until he’s begging him to stop through his laughter. When the world stops spinning and his eyes focus, he’s being dipped down, Buckys hand holding him up steady on his back and the other clutched in his, nose to nose. Bucky giggles into their kiss and tastes like the lemon sweets his sister had sent them. His heart quietens down and he pats it in the head for being right.
Somewhere he keep feel his ghosts smiling and gentle but he has so many people to love who are still here and warm and staring at him with wide blue eyes and he’s going to focus on that now. He’s still here and alive and in love and he’s going to live now.