Getting on that damn plane
James Buchanan Barnes. Cap’s Sidekick. Steve Roger’s best friend. The only Howlie who ‘died’. The Winter Soldier. White Wolf. Hell, even Bucky wasn’t him. Names given to him by various people, to different hims, to people he once knew, once was. To people he’d never be again. But he liked the sound of this one.
James Wilson. It represented the man he wanted to be. The man he loved.
Better not let Sam know that's what he calls himself in his head.
Otherwise he would be killed for flirting with Sarah again and he really didn’t want Sam’s ‘Captain America is disappointed in you’ face, because he had that now. Maybe it came with that shield… Steve’s did. Besides, she wasn’t the Wilson he wanted.
He wanted to be Uncle James, not dad. He wanted to be the uncle who stole Sam’s shield and played Captain America in the backyard with AJ and Cass. He wanted to show the boys his cool metal arm and sleep on the couch and go on dates with Sa-, hang out with Sam’s family.
Sam’s family, who had somehow become his family along the way. Hell, this whole town became his family along the way. Apparently being a Wilson was worth something in the town, and if the winks and nudges were anything to go by, he was a Wilson, though he couldn’t work out who they thought he was banging.
God, a family, that felt good to think. Laying on Sarah’s, frankly very old couch- that was on the side of just too comfortable, even without all the stuffing, it was slightly too soft -he smiled at the ceiling. He didn’t think, no he knew, there was no place he’d rather be than here.
The lights in the kitchen were still on and he could hear Sam’s loud snores coming from the man’s childhood bedroom. James knew he’d be unable to sleep for a while and set himself for looking out the window at the moon and enjoying the sounds of creaking from the old house standing tall against the cold wind.
As he closed his eyes, ready to fall asleep the light in the kitchen went out and the moon seemed to fade behind a patch of clouds. The room went dark and he could no longer hear Sam’s breathing.
Forcing himself to stay calm, he pushed himself silently off the old couch and crept his way down the hallway to Sam’s room, creaking open the door slightly. To his terror, Sam wasn’t lying in bed, his window was shuttered open and his sheets in a mess. There was blood on the bedframe and a knocked over lamp.
James ran to Sarah’s room, heart pulsing in his head, not calm in the slightest. Her room was in similar disarray and the boys’ bunk beds were empty. He bolted back to the front door, slamming it open to see four shadowy figures with large objects slung over their shoulders in the distance, not noticing anything else around him. He started to run after them, but a hand came out of nowhere.
“Hail Hydra.” A cloth covered his face and it went black.
James woke up in a cold sweat, not screaming, but panting heavily as he took in his surroundings. A baby crying, a consoling mother’s soft tones, engine noises, people’s headphones up too loud.
It was just a dream. He quickly did a scan around, habit from being on the run and no one was even paying attention to him, let alone part of a super secret Nazi organisation tracking his every move.
He was on the plane. He was flying away from hom- the Wilson’s, and they were safe. He was flying away from a man who didn’t turn around in the driveway, or maybe he had. James hadn’t, so he wouldn’t know. But if he had, he’d have never left. Never left Sam and that stupid shield with his stupid boat and stupid, nice, accepting family.
He settled back into his seat, pulling out the phone Sam had insisted he get, stating that ‘no friend of his would use a flip phone, it’s the 21st century Buck’, watching some dumb show that Sam had insisted he watch, using the earphones Sam had insisted he buy and when did his life become about Sam?
It had been for a long time. It had been before Steve had left. His stupid dorky smile, and the way he teased James like he couldn’t snap his neck without breaking a sweat, and how Sam never had a plan, like he hadn’t been in the air force. Like both of them hadn’t been soldiers, hadn’t served their country, like James wasn’t the Winter Soldier.
The way Sam didn’t hesitate in high fiving his metal arm. The way he told stupid jokes about James old age. The way Sam didn’t care about his past, only what they were going to have for dinner that night after flying way too close to a no fly zone and jumping out of a moving plane.
Sam was his life and James doesn’t know when that happened.
He was in love with Captain America, and wasn’t that a shocker? Being in love with Captain America. The history books weren’t exactly correct, they didn’t capture the late nights in their cheap apartment, the cold nights in Howlies’ tent, every ‘I love you’ exchanged in the heat of battles and the too stillness of terrifying nights.
He could never replace his first love, the boy he took care of every night, through every cold and fever. The man he was held by when Steve grew too many inches and ran his quite large hands through James’ hair when he couldn’t sleep.
But Sam wasn’t a replacement, Steve may have brought them together and he may have been their mutual friend, their one point of connection at one point, but James could pinpoint the moment Sam became more, or could he?
Was it the moment he kicked his seat, or when he saw that lack of admiration in his eyes for Steve, that he saw Captain America as human and looked at James like he was something special, maybe when he declined the shield and as much as James hated it, stood up for himself, maybe it was when he happily welcomed Bucky into his home or played dress up with a criminal that James had let out. Maybe it was when he agreed to call Bucky James, without psychoanalysing him, or going full counsellor mode on him, not questioning it, but making a stupid joke about how boring the name ‘James’ was and going on with his life.
When James finally got off the plane- dodging young families on vacation and reuniting couples, getting searched by airport security and being approached by a 6 year old girl with a prosthetic arm who had simply smiled at him and complimented his arm, showing him hers -he got to check his phone.
As usual he didn’t have hundreds of notifications, he was lucky if he got one. But on his lockscreen, there was a message from Sam.
Come home.
And James had to stop himself from getting back onto that plane and into Sam’s arms. He closed his phone without ‘reading’ the message and by the time he’d gotten in the cab, the notification was no longer there.
Sam must have deleted it, and right James was getting in a cab to go back to his too cold apartment and sleep on the floor, which sounded uncomfortable after the Wilson’s couch. Too quiet after a house full of laughter. Too alone after a house full of life.
I’m coming Sam