Sam landed on the top of a building somewhere in New York, the dizziness from the blood loss almost making him fall over. He made out the shape of the rooftop access door in the dark and dragged himself to it, barely avoiding tripping on the stairs. More out of instinct than anything else, he went downstairs and entered in an apartment he vaguely recognized as a place he's been at before.
"Check the place" whispered years of fight, as a soldier and as an Avenger; but an old feeling told him he was safe there. And honestly, Sam didn't have the strength to do that in that moment. He just stumbled to a chair near one of the windows, dropped the duffle bag on the table and started digging in it with his right hand, the one not currently busy pressing on the gunshot. He maneged to find the first aid kit.
Sitting down he picked up something he hoped was disinfectant and cleaned the wound, hissing at the burnt, then took the forceps and stopping when he noticed his hand tremble in the light coming from the street lamps outside.
Sam had found himself back from a fight injured and with his head foggy from blood loss many times before, so he decided to deal with the situation the same way he always did, asking for help to his friends.
There was something wrong with that thought, but he didn't dwelled on it, instead turned and looked for bright red hair in the darkness, failing to find it and opting then for calling Nat.
Then he froze.
Natasha was dead. Had been for almost six months. And they haven't been on the run since Thanos.
Sam sighed, ignoring the stab of grief in his chest, and focused on the injury. Slowly, he pushed the forceps into the wound and tried to find the bullet. It took a few agonizing minutes to do that and he allowed himself a moment to breath when he finished, letting both the projectile and the tweezers fall carelessly to the floor with a clicking sound that echoed in the empty room. Then he prepared himself for what followed.
Stich up the gunshot was a painful and way too long process. His grip on the needle was slippery from the blood and in the weak light from the outside he couldn't clearly see the wound. A couple of times the needle fell from his fingers and he had to bend over and feel around in the darkness to find it. When he finished he dressed the injury at best he could.
The work was badly done, but it would do it until the next day. He didn't bother putting the tools back and simply passed out on the chair.
Sam woked up with the sun hitting his face, an ache along all his back, a chill in his bones and the wound throbbing painfully. It took him a moment to remember that he arrived at the apartment last night, an apartment that with light and a clearer head he could now recognize as Steve's, or at least the one Steve had in Brooklyn before the mess with the Accords.
Steve, the person he almost successfully avoided thinking of since the funeral, three weeks ago. He wouldn't even have known of it if Rhodey hadn't told him, since it was reserved to family. There had been only twelve people, counting him and Bucky. As soon as the ceremony ended Barnes fleed. Sam didn't excanged more than a few words with the members of Steve's family, although he remained at the cemetery long after everyone left, staring at the headstone of his best-
No, he certainly could not define Steve his best friend. Or at least, Steve made it clear that he didn't considered him close enough to at least say goodbye before fucking off to the '40s. Or tell him who did he do that for (he found out at the funeral anyway). Or-
Sam cut off his thoughts. It wasn't time for self despicable bullshit. Sharon was probably having an even harder time with the fact that the guy she kissed was now her uncle.
He jumped on his feet, regretting it when a sting of pain shot through his body and almost made him kneel.
Sharon. Fuck fuck fuck. How the hell could he forget about her? He opened his phone, swearing when it wasn't able to register his touch because of the dryed blood on his hands, and went through his contact list to find her name, he remembered he saved her soon after SHIELD's fall-
He sighed, again. The hit he took on his head must have done more damage than he though. When he came back, most of his personal belongings have been sold, phone too. The new one had just a few contacts.
(It didn't have his chats with Riley or Natasha, the last messages they excanged, or the photos he didn't have time to save elsewhere, and this was the thing he regretted the most).
He would have to ask around at work, although the spy probably wasn't easy to find. He gave himself a moment to reorganize his thoughts, then he pressed the icon with Torres' name and told him he would be at the airport in an hour for debriefing. After he closed the chat his fingers opened another out of habit.
Every message he send Bucky went unanswered, but despite that he couldn't force himself to just stop reaching out for the other man, letting him know he wasn't totally alone even without Steve, that he would listen to him if he needed to talk.
His finger hovered over the button for a few istants, then he send a message, simply asking Bucky how was he doing. He couldn't help the flicker of hope, like every time.
He turned off the phone before seeing if the message has been read and started gathering his things. The blood was still on the tools he used the night before, as well as on the bag and everything else he touched.
Gritting his teeth he chaged out of his uniform, being mindful of his wound, and wore civilian clothes, then - not without struggle- he took the wingpack from where he left it the previous night, on the floor. After he maneged to clean most of the blood on forehead and hands with a towel and a bottle of water he came back to check on his phone.
As always, his message has been read but he didn't get any kind of answer. He felt a pang of disappointment, the slim hoped crushed like it happened every time, but he pushed those feelings away and concentrated on what he had to do in that moment.
Limping slightly, he left the apartment he spent many nights with Steve patching each other up and days watching movies or simply enjoying time together and went to the airport.
Ten days later Bucky Barnes was telling him he shouldn't have given up the shield.