Getting used to Sam's couch
James just breath, came the crackly, tinny voice from the phone.
“Can’t, no air.” He managed to heave out.
"There’s always air, albeit polluted air considering where you live, but air nonetheless. Are you somewhere safe? Do you recognise your surroundings?"
Hopefully Sam didn’t require him to give more than one word answers. “Apartment. Mine. Too cold, too grey.” Even getting those words out was too much effort and James tried to catch a racing breath.
Luckily Sam seemed to translate James speak, or maybe he was just good from his time working with vets and around trauma.
James was aware of everything around him, he could feel the carpet under his feet and see the different colours around him and he was glad Sam didn’t try any sensory shit on him. That was never his problem, he was usually too aware and that didn’t tune out during a panic attack. He was aware that all he needed to do was catch his breath, telling him that wouldn't help him, he also knew what to do, he just couldn’t .
Lost in his thoughts he didn’t realise Sam was talking.
"-And so Sarah walks out of her room, all dressed up for Halloween and there is a massive split down the side of the costume she spent weeks making. So mumma, like the goddess she is, gets out a needle and thread and within the hour we’re all standing there, beaming, in home made costumes."
“What were you dressed up as?” If Sam was surprised to hear James talk, he didn’t show it in his voice. In fact, James sounded more surprised to hear himself talk.
Sam sounded a little embarrassed as he started.
"James Bucky Barnes."
“Yes that’s me,” the jest was back in James’ voice, he was feeling better now that he wasn’t consciously thinking about the panic attack.
"No, I mean. I went as Sergeant Barnes many years in a row."
His voice trailed off at the end and James didn’t know how he could be any more in love with this man.
“Really?” He asked incredulously. “Why? I wasn’t Captain America.”
"That was kinda the point" .
The voice sounded small, even through the phone.
"You were Bucky, Cap’s sidekick and even though there weren’t thousands of books and comics about you, you still escaped Hydra and were the best soldier you could be. Without being the blonde eye, blue haired, pumped full of drugs, poster child for the other side. You always seemed like the second choice in the comics and I guess that, well that was how I felt."
"Besides, we’d all go as Howlies. Me and my mates would do a massive dress up as Howlies every Halloween, I’m sure I have pictures. I think one of them went as Cap and another as Peggy, but I can’t remember."
James was silent too long and Sam was worried he overstepped or triggered something, but in fact James was processing the words, that kids had liked him. That Sam had liked him. That he was a character to be dressed up like for Halloween, and even when Cap was the golden child, there were still people who liked him.
That was taking a lot of getting used to.
He must have taken too long answering, because Sam was calling down the phone.
"James, James? Are you alright? Are you still there?"
James to his credit, didn’t tear up, he forced the words out of his mouth even when they felt unnatural, an admittal of something deep inside. “You chose me.”
The sentence in itself didn’t make sense, after all Sam was talking about a costume from childhood, not in a real fight or in this life, but he chuckled.
"I suppose I did."
He didn’t hide his accent, drawling out the words and damn it, James should not have found that so hot. There was a hint of a smirk in his voice, like he knew what he was doing.
"How could I not have chosen my favourite goat herder?"
…-and just like they were back. “Have a thing for long hair and poor hygiene? Kinky.”
"Don’t kinkshame me."
“Don’t have weird kinks and I won’t have to.” He shot back, and like that they fell in some kind of normal, a rhythm that felt natural to them both, but something had shifted.
They didn’t put back up the walls that were previously there. Which for James, meant a whole lot of trusting. A lot more than he was used to.
The flirting felt different as well. Before it felt surface level, James would let the words sit on his skin, never taking them in. That was dangerous and cost him feelings, but for once he let the words soak in and he hoped Sam had too, because this was addictive, a kind of alcohol he could get drunk on, a type of high he could still get.
They must have talked for a good few hours, James’ takeout forgotten outside his door and Sam’s responsibilities totally shirked. It wasn’t until James heard Sarah in the background that he panicked, he’d taken Sam away from his work, Sarah wouldn’t be happy, he’d lose family.
Until he stopped himself at the last minute, Sam was a big boy, he made his own decisions. It was fine.
Talking had seemed so normal, it was like they were back on the boat again fixing something or sitting on the deck drinking coldish beers.
"Oh, hey James."
He heard some snickering in the background and murmurs about ‘ooh, boyfriend’.
He and Sarah chatted for a while, with Sam’s good natured warnings not to flirt ringing in the back of his mind as Sam called out from Sarah’s living room every so often to remind him. He heard Sam get softer in the background of the phone as footsteps were taken, so he assumed Sarah had walked somewhere else, maybe outside?
"James, you’re really good for him. He hasn’t been this happy in a long time. Don’t screw up, not that I think you will, but as an older sister, to you both, I have to give you this talk."
What did Sarah think was happening? He let a confused noise down the phone.
"Don’t play stupid, I see how you look at him, how he looks at you. Just please don’t hurt him, he’s had enough for a lifetime."
And even though James could never see anything happening, and although his traitorous heart fluttered, he murmured his agreement as the rest of the conversation went in a blur. He opened his door and ate the cold takeout sitting on his not-right couch, listening to Steve’s old radio. He really needed to get himself a tv.
He couldn’t stop thinking of Sam especially as he fell asleep on the couch, steadfastly pretending Sam wasn’t the reason he was sleeping there and pointedly ignoring the flashes of perfection and colours that he was sure weren’t in his apartment in his dreams.
What was he going to do?