"So Mr. Barnes, are you still having nightmares?"
Bucky wakes with a start.
He sits up, his chest and the sheets pooling around his stomach drenched in sweat. He's panting heavily, letting out these gasping breaths like he just can't find enough air to fill his lungs. There's a small amount of sunlight creeping in through the blinds of his apartment, meaning he at least managed to sleep till early morning. When he's caught his breath enough, he glances at the alarm clock on the floor next to him; it's 5:45 am. Good enough.
He moves the sheets off of him and plants his feet on the ground. He doesn't have an actual bed just yet- it's just his mattress on the floor in the bedroom of his one bedroom apartment- so it's an uncomfortable strain. He rises to his feet, stretching out his limbs and shaking himself slightly. He runs a hand through his hair, still adjusting to the short, clipped length of it. Bucky walks into the small bathroom attached to the room, stopping to look at himself in the mirror before he turns on the shower.
Bucky doesn't recognize the man staring back at him in his reflection. It's not just because of the haircut. He hasn't spent much time looking at himself at all since 1945. Hydra never cared to offer him a compact mirror to check on his appearance, and even once that was all over and he was in hiding or in Wakanda he never much felt like taking a good look at himself. His reflection is blank. Bucky hates to see himself, hates to know what everyone else sees when they look at him. To his credit, his eyes look slightly less dead inside than usual, but not much happier. He would try to smile but he's sure it would look more like a grimace than anything.
What had Bucky looked like before all this?
He knows he has photos stashed away somewhere- photos that Steve and SHIELD had given him at some point- but he doesn't bother searching for them. Thinking of who he once was is still too fresh. Besides, it doesn't matter. He can't cling to those days forever. Today is waiting for him.
Quite frankly, he can't stand to look at Steve either. Bucky's sure there's plenty of old, discolored photographs of a smiling, happy Steve Rogers with an arm thrown around Bucky's shoulders. That wound's still too fresh to open.
Bucky removes his metal arm and sets it on the bathroom counter. It's certainly not the most responsible place for it, but where else is he going to put it? If Tony were here, he'd probably handcraft Bucky a storage station for it or something. But Tony isn't here. That's another wound he has no intention of opening just yet.
Bucky showers quickly. He finds himself missing the high-tech showers of Wakanda. The water pressure in this apartment sucks and Bucky find himself almost shivering for half the shower due to its temperature. He misses a lot of things about Wakanda, actually, and finds that more often than not, he wishes he would wake up there instead. Before the snap, before the big battle, before...
No, no, he's not thinking about Steve.
When Bucky's out of the shower, he re-attaches his arm, dries his hair quickly with a towel, and wanders back into the bedroom to find the only outfit he has laid out; a black sweatshirt and black pants. It'll do. Who does he have to impress?
The Stark phone Bucky's slightly adapted to using vibrates on the floor where he'd left it the night before. Bucky sighs, picking it up to see an incoming message from Dr. Raynor.
Mr. Barnes, this a reminder of your 3 o'clock appointment today. You missed last week, so if you don't show up today, I can't keep the courts from getting involved.
Bucky rolls his eyes. He's going to show up. He feels no need to respond, so he just opens the message and moves on. He has ten other messages he's yet to open. One asking him if he's interested in restarting his Tinder profile- and no, he's not, thank you very much. One day of online dating was enough- and the other nine are from Sam. Bucky hasn't even read most of them; he just swiped away the notification to deal with later.
Hey, sorry if this is too soon, but just wanted to check in with you. Hope I'm not crossing a boundary. It's Sam, btw.
Delivered
Fine. Don't respond to me. Whatever.
Delivered
Thought I saw you walking down the street today. Turns out it was just a Terminator cosplayer.
Delivered
Just occurred to me that you've probably never seen Terminator. Do you know who Arnold Schwarzenegger is?
Delivered
Thought you were dead, but turns out you're in court-mandated therapy. Guess you may as well be, right?
Delivered
Sorry. Was that insensitive?
Delivered
Dammit, Barnes, it's been a month. Would you just answer me? Give me a thumbs up or something? Maybe a bitmoji. You customized a bitmoji yet?
Delivered
Not that you care, but I'm giving up the shield today. They're keeping it in the museum for Steve's exhibit. I doubt you'd understand, but I hope you will.
Delivered
I hate that I'm admitting this, but I wish you'd talk to me. You're the only one left who gets it. I keep thinking about him today.
Read.
Bucky sighs. He should answer it, but he doesn't. What would he even say?
Him and Sam don't have much of a relationship. They were tethered to each other through Steve. Without him, what are they?
Bucky just shakes himself and heads out for the day. He leaves his list of names to make amends with behind. He doesn't have the energy for that today. He'll do what he always does on "days off": walk around aimlessly and people watch. There's nothing else for him to do. It's not his lunch day with Yuri, he doesn't technically have a job, he has no friends to call and no desire to make some. Dr. Raynor and Sam are the only names in his contact list, though he never responds to either.
Bucky isn't sure what he would even talk to a friend about. What hobbies does he have? What does he like? Dislike? What could he even say about himself?
"Hi, I'm Bucky Barnes, I'm 116 years old and my main interests include having night terrors and attempting to make peace with my traumatic past." How appealing is that?
Bucky's phone vibrates in his pocket as he's walking down the street. It could only be Sam.
He doesn't check it.
*****
"So, Mr. Barnes, are you still having nightmares?"
Bucky's a liar. Dr. Raynor knows this.
She still spends every session pressing him for truth she knows she'll never get. Bucky puts up enough of a front that she won't go to SHIELD and tell them the therapy's useless. The deal's only on if he tries. He just has to come to these weekly sessions, show that he's changing as a person, and he gets to have all charges against him cleared and gets to hole up in that little downtown D.C. apartment.
Today's appointment wasn't bad. Raynor asks about Bucky's nightmares and he lies about them. He can't even really remember what last night's was. They all blend together lately; just images of pulling triggers and hands around throats and bodies hitting the floor and blood on his boots and mission reports.
It's not Raynor's fault, really. Sure, she's a little hostile, but she tries. She asks the questions she's supposed to, jots things down in that little notebook. And God, that damn notebook. She's lucky that Bucky's becoming a changed man, or good God he would rip that thing in half so quick.
The appointment's over and Bucky's walking home. It's 5pm, evening breeze blowing by and the usual downtown crowd is bustling past him. Most people don't recognize him, not at first glance anyway. He walks briskly, hides his face in the sea of humans, and the new cut certainly helps. Now and again, he'll meet a pair of suspicious eyes, but if anyone might know who he is, they don't comment on it.
It's a little early for dinner, but Bucky wants to try to get to bed early. Maybe he'll sleep better if he does. Maybe he won't.
He opts for a sandwich from the shop down the street from his apartment. It's quick and it's decent food. He makes polite conversation with the cashier as he orders his pastrami on white, then heads back to his apartment to eat alone. He's yet to purchase even a coffee table for the place so he eats on the floor with some paper towels laid out. It's a dreary existence, and Bucky knows he's only making things more difficult than need be, but he can't bring himself to change.
Bucky's at least bought himself a TV, but no stand for it of course. It sits against the wall on the floor and he watches the news as he works through his sandwich. Being in D.C., it's mostly political junk and the occasional robbery or shooting. It's mostly radio static so he doesn't have to be alone with the silence.
Bucky finishes his dinner and glances at the time. It's only 8pm, but he doesn't feel like doing much else. He changes into a pair of sweatpants, brushes his teeth, and settles for the night on his mattress, closing his eyes and preparing for whatever's coming next.
*****
"So, Mr. Barnes, are you still having nightmares?"
The target's seen him, but it doesn't matter. He's quick. He's always quick. The man barely gets a couple feet from him before there's a bullet in his brain. The target falls to the floor almost comically quick, and the Soldier holsters his weapon. His job is done. Time to go. He turns, ready to make a quick exit from the French hotel he finds himself in, but something blocks his way.
Standing in front of him is a young man whose just entered the hotel room. He can't be any older than fifteen, and his eyes flicker in horror from the Soldier standing before him and the corpse of the target staining the carpet with his blood.
"Papa!" The boy cries out, running to crouch beside the target's lifeless body. The Solider walks behind him and pulls his weapon out of the holster. He fixes his finger on the trigger.
Bucky's awake instantly. He sits quickly, reaching for the gun that isn't attached to his hip. He takes several gasping breaths and realizes he's alone in the bedroom of his apartment. He takes a look at the alarm clock. 4:45 am. Too early to get up. He composes himself enough to lay back down, breath still coming heavily, and stares up at the ceiling. He can't see the boy's face anymore, can't hear his cries. He's alone.
Before he can stop himself. Bucky's reaching for the phone on the floor. He opens his messages, quickly types, then presses send. He collapses back into the mattress, forcing his eyes shut until he hears the vibration of a notification.
Barnes, Bucky: Meet me for dinner tonight?
Wilson, Sam: Sure. Giovanni's at 6. See you there, Robocop.
*****
Bucky twirls his spaghetti around on his fork, watching through hooded eyes as Sam digs into his lasagna with a grin.
Sam's talking through a mouthful of meat sauce and cheese about miscellaneous things. His sister, his nephews, the reality show about pregnant teenagers he's recently started watching. He mentions nothing about Bucky ignoring his texts or about Steve and the shield or the blip or the Avengers or any of it really. Bucky's grateful for that. He can't believe he's thinking this, but after spending so much time wallowing in his own silence, he's almost grateful for the sound of Sam's chatter.
When Sam finishes his meal and his one-sided conversation, he chugs his water and fold his hands onto the table. He leans forward slightly, hitting Bucky with a, "So what's new with you?"
"Nothing," Bucky answers honestly. "Just the usual."
Sam raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? What's the usual entail?"
"I don't know," Bucky grumbles. He eats a bite of pasta just to occupy himself.
"You get my texts?" Sam asks then, and Bucky tenses. Here it is, the interrogation, the lecture. There's no point in lying to avoid it. Bucky nods. He expects Sam to get annoyed, but he just laughs softly. "Good. Thought maybe your dinosaur ass couldn't figure out how to operate a cell phone."
Bucky scowls at him, but he finds he's not as angry with the joke as he tries to portray. "You know I've worked with some of the most advanced technology known to man, right?" And it's true, between Hydra and Stark Industries tech and the damn arm that's attached to him, Bucky's familiar.
"So what?" Sam retorts. He then has the audacity to reach over with his fork and grab a meatball off of Bucky's half empty plate. "Pretty sure it took Steve a month to figure out how to answer a phone call."
Bucky can't help but smile a little at that. He wasn't around for those moments, Steve adapting to modern life, but he can imagine it. Steve's big, dumb, goofy self attempting to navigate a Stark phone. But now Bucky's thinking of Steve, and wondering if he and Steve would be calling each other on their phones these days. The smile fades, and he notices that Sam's demeanor has shifted slightly, too, to something more pensive.
It's quiet for a moment in the little back booth of the restaurant they're sitting in. The waiter arrives to drop off the check, and Sam's sliding some bills in it before Bucky can offer. The waiter leaves them in silence.
"Are you upset about the shield?"
It's Sam who breaks the silence. Bucky had been staring at his lap for a solid minute, but he raises his eyes to meet Sam's. Sam looks unguarded. In all the time Bucky's known this man, he's never seemed vulnerable. There's always some kind of bravado there, but it's fallen for just a moment. There's something that looks like guilt resting in Sam's eyes and it upsets Bucky in a way he doesn't understand. Doesn't want to.
"No," He answers. It's not a lie, but it's not fully the truth. Steve trusted Sam with his life; trusted Sam with the shield. Part of Bucky is upset that Sam wouldn't at the very least hold onto it to look after, even if he didn't pick up the Captain America mantle. But then again, it's a lot of pressure. And it's a constant reminder. Bucky would probably go insane if he had to sit in his apartment and constantly see that shining red, white, and blue propped up in the corner of his living room. Maybe Sam just couldn't stand it. Bucky didn't blame him.
Sam studies him for a moment, as though he's trying to determine if Bucky is lying or not. Sam seems to deem his answer truthful, because a flicker of relief passes over his face and he gives a firm nod. "You done with your meal?" Sam sneaks another bite off of Bucky's plate, and the food is surely cool at this point but he doesn't seem to care.
"Yeah," Bucky says, then after a pause, "Thanks. You didn't have to pay."
Sam shrugs. "This'll probably be the last time I see you for a solid five years. Might as well."
Bucky wishes he could argue against that, but he can't. He's already considering blocking Sam's number when he gets back to his apartment. He can see Dr. Raynor frowning in his mind at such an idea, but who cares?
"You gonna walk me back to your place?"
What? Bucky furrows his eyebrows at Sam's question. "Why would I do that?"
"Because you have good hospitality?" Sam replies like it's obvious.
"You're not coming to my apartment," Bucky says sternly.
"Oh come on, Barnes, why not?" Sam is fixing him with a dramatic pout, like a toddler being told they can't have candy for dinner.
"You're such a child," Bucky grumbles. Sam just grins at him and it's clear he knows he's getting his way no matter what. Bucky slides out of the booth and Sam follows instantly.
"You can stay for ten minutes max," Bucky tells him as they exit the restaurant and head out onto the street.
"A lot can happen in ten minutes," Sam says. He's smirking, and Bucky doesn't ask for clarification.
*****
"You really went with the less is more approach in terms of decorating, huh?"
Bucky stands awkwardly by the door of his apartment- hands shoved into his jacket pockets- watching as Sam scrutinizes the place. Well, there's not much to scrutinize anyway. It's still just the TV on the living room floor, the mattress in the bedroom.
"I don't really know what's popular in the interior design world right now," Bucky mumbles.
"Bed frames, for one," Sam teases, but he doesn't sound mean. He does a little lap through the apartment then comes back to stand in front of Bucky. "You ever been to Ikea?"
Bucky just stares at him in confusion which is surely answer enough. Sam takes another look around then nods to himself. "Yeah. We're going to Ikea."
Before Bucky can even ask what the hell an Ikea is, Sam is patting him on the shoulder and exiting his apartment. Bucky stands there dumbfounded, noticing just how lonely a one bedroom apartment is for the first time.
*****
Bucky had never seen so many couches in his life.
As it turns out, Ikea is a massive furniture market. Who knew.
Bucky feels remarkably out of place, so he tails closely behind Sam as they peruse aisles of couches, coffee tables, lamps, bed sets. When Bucky had been living in hiding, he had gotten the bare minimum of basic wooden furniture and a rather uncomfortable couch. Something tells him Sam won't allow him to leave with those things today.
"You ought to get yourself a recliner," Sam is saying. "My sister's got this dope ass recliner in her living room. I swear I could fall asleep in that thing."
"Do you live with your sister?" Bucky asks. They stop in their tracks to examine the price tag on a black leather couch. Bucky can't deny the thing looks nice.
"Staying with her for the time being," Sam replies. "Trying to figure out my next move. But I don't mind it. She gets on my nerves cause she's my sister, but can't beat being around my nephews." Sam holds the price tag on the couch out to Bucky. "This one's on sale."
Bucky examines it for a moment; affordable enough. He sits down on it. He can't lie, it's a very comfortable couch. Sam plops down onto the cushion next to him immediately. "I say this is a definite yes," He says. "Now come on, Robocop, let's find you a matching coffee table."
*****
Sam opts to help Bucky set up the furniture they've purchased rather than hiring someone to do it. "Why pay someone to do something you can do yourself for free?" Sam had asked, and Bucky couldn't disagree.
Bucky wants to be annoyed at Sam for forcing this suggestion upon him and for being right, but he can't. The apartment does already feel a lot more homey. They didn't get anything too extravagant- despite Sam's desperate attempts to talk Bucky into getting a massage chair and a pool table- but the black wooden dining set, matching black couch, wooden coffee table, steel bedframe, and corresponding nightstand do wonders. Together, Sam and Bucky push the couch into the proper position at the back wall of the living room, facing the TV that is now mounted on the wall across from it rather than leaning against it.
Bucky could've easily done it himself, but Sam seems pretty intent on being involved in this whole process. Bucky isn't sure why he doesn't tell Sam he can do these things alone. Maybe he's worried that Sam's lonely. Maybe he's lonely himself. Neither are things Bucky wants to process at the moment, so he keeps his mouth shut.
Sam heads to the fridge and grabs two of the beers he'd stashed in there earlier without Bucky's permission. Bucky's surprised he doesn't offer to take him grocery shopping after seeing the mostly empty fridge. But Sam says nothing; he just pops open the tops of the beers and plops down on Bucky's new couch. He pats the seat next to him and holds out the other bottle; Bucky sighs and hesitantly plops down beside him to drink.
Beer doesn't do much for Bucky- it takes a lot to get him just buzzed with the serum and all- but he misses the casualness of encounters like this. He can't remember the last time he sat around with someone sipping on cold beer, but he thinks it must've been during the war with the Howlies. With Steve. He can see it in his head; Bucky laughing like an idiot, far dunker than Steve, leaning against a tree while Steve sips from his own flask and shakes his head with an amused grin. There may have been utter chaos going on in the world around them, but they shared not a care in the world under those stars.
Bucky doesn't realize he's smiling slightly to himself until Sam asks, "What you thinking about there?"
The smile fades and Bucky clears his throat awkwardly. "Nothing."
Sam snorts. "Let me guess: This apartment looks so nice and I'm so glad my best buddy Sam helped me decorate it!" When Bucky doesn't respond with some sarcastic comment, Sam nudges him gently in the shoulder with the end of his beer bottle. Bucky flinches slightly. "Shit. Sorry, Buck," Sam says, voice laced with concern.
And Sam doesn't intend for it to, but the shortened version of his nickname has Bucky tensing and holding his breath. He can practically feel Steve smacking him on the shoulder, asking, "You ready to go, Buck?". He can see Steve- short, skinny, and in a shirt two sizes too big- unlocking his front door and waving goodbye at Bucky who's just dropped him off after a movie with a, "Have a good night, Buck."
"Hey, you with me?" Sam's voice is gentle. He's scooted a little ways away from Bucky and hasn't tried to touch him or anything. When Bucky manages to flicker his eyes towards Sam's, he sees a blend of confusion and concern there.
"Bucky," Bucky grits out.
"Hmm?" Sam asks in confusion.
"Bucky," Bucky repeats. He clears his throat. "It's just Bucky."
Sam still looks confused for a moment, but then realization slowly crosses onto his face. He gives a slight nod of his head. "Right. That's Steve's line, isn't it?"
Bucky doesn't say anything. Sam doesn't either for a while. They sit there, the only sounds in the room their breathing and heartbeats. Sam is the one to break the silence. Who else would it be?
"I miss him too, you know."
Bucky starts slightly at that. He turns to face Sam again, and finds the other man looking away from him, staring into space, expression unreadable. Bucky isn't sure what to say; he opens his mouth to speak, but realizes whatever apology or words of comfort resting on his tongue probably aren't worth saying. Sam must feel Bucky's eyes boring into his side profile because he turns to face him with a bittersweet smile.
"I didn't have any friends for a while," Sam says softly. "I mean, I know that sounds pretty sad for a grown man to say, but it's true. When I came back from overseas... It was hard to adapt. I couldn't sleep, but I couldn't leave my bed either. I'm sure you get it in a way." Bucky nods. He does. "All I really did was hang around my folks, but I think my sister was getting a little sick of me. So I started doing the support group, giving the speeches. It was nice to have a reason to leave the house but it wasn't a lot. And then I meet Steve on this run, and he was such a little shit man, running laps around me..." Sam laughs quietly and Bucky's own lips twitch into a small smile. "And then Natasha and Sharon and the mission and you... Like becoming an Avenger overnight. It was a purpose. And I was so unsure of myself, so unsure of the Falcon. But Steve, he was always sure. Always knew what I was, what I could be..." Sam trails off and the smile falters. "And then Thanos and the blip and Thanos again. And suddenly, I'm back after five years and Steve's handing me that damn shield and I don't know what to do." His voice breaks as he says, "I just couldn't look at that shield anymore. Sitting in my house like a goddamn reminder that he's gone and I'll never live up to him."
Bucky doesn't realize he's reaching out, but he places an awkward hand on Sam's knee. Sam looks at it and snorts. "You're real comforting, Barnes." And the usual teasing tone in Sam's voice is back.
Bucky doesn't come up with a comeback. He just says seriously, "He didn't want you to live up to what he was. He wanted you to live up to what he knew you could be."
Sam stares at him long and hard for a moment, and Bucky doesn't find himself intimidated by much but damn that look pierces him. "What do you think he wanted you to be?" Sam asks softly, so softly that Bucky thinks he might be nervous to ask.
"I don't know," Bucky admits. He removes his hand from Sam's knee and pulls it back into his lap, running a thumb over the bottle of beer in the grip of his other that's gone undrunk. "I think I used to know, but I don't know anymore."
Sam stares at him a bit longer, then looks forward. He leans back into the couch with a melodramatic sigh, stretching his legs and chugging the last of his beer. "Guess we're just two confused fools then."
Yeah, Bucky thinks. Guess they are.
*****
Bucky doesn't talk to Sam for a week.
It's nothing personal; nothing happened between them. Bucky just isn't prepared for any more heartfelt conversations.
Bucky's back to his normal routine; lunch with Yuri once a week (which doubles as dodging Yuri's desperate attempts to set him up with the waitress at their favorite sushi bar), therapy sessions with Dr. Raynor, and of course, amends.
That's where Bucky is now.
He glances down at the small notebook in his hand once more. "J. Weaver." Janet Weaver. He's at the right address. He stuffs the notebook back into his jacket and raises a gloved hand to knock twice on the door.
This one's going to be a difficult one. The last three names Bucky's crossed off his list have been former Hydra associates. They were easy to confront. They're bad people, Bucky did bad things for them or on their behalf. Apologizing to them for his behavior and thanking them for the opportunity to change came across more as a threat- especially with the nice little mechanisms Bucky put into place to scare said associates- and really that's what it was.
But Janet Weaver...
The door opens to reveal a woman maybe in her thirties. She's pretty, olive skin, dark, curly hair flowing down her neck. She greets Bucky politely. "Hi, can I help you?"
Bucky clears his throat. "Um. Hello, I'm Bu- I'm James Barnes and I..." He isn't sure where to start. He looks up into this woman's eyes. She's watching him expectantly, clearly a little confused but still maintaining a kind demeanor. Her eyes are a hazel color and he recognizes them. He's seen them somewhere else.
"Look, please don't! I've got a wife at home and a baby on the way and I promise you I won't say a word. About Hydra or you or any of this! Please!"
The Soldier holds the man by the hair with a firm grip. The soldier looks into the man's eyes. They're a hazel color, rimmed with tears and filled with desperation. The man opens his mouth to plead again, but the Soldier slices his throat quickly, easily. The man falls to the floor, bleeding out onto the carpet.
The Soldier takes a look around. No witnesses this time. Perfect. Easy. He leaves the man to his devices on the floor, watching as his breathing stops and the light in those eyes fades. Mission accomplished.
"Excuse me, sir? Are you alright?"
Janet Weaver's voice brings him out of his trance. He blinks, staring at her. She's clearly very concerned about this stranger having a vivid flashback on her porch, and Bucky's sure she's seconds away from pulling out a phone and calling 911.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am," Bucky says quickly. "I think I have the wrong house."
He turns away before she can stop him. He's quick, hurrying down the street and out of the neighborhood until he's back out on the main stretch of city. He makes it to an alleyway about a mile from his apartment before he collapses; not from exhaustion. He's not sure from what.
Bucky sits on the ground of this dirty alley, leaning back against the brick wall of the building next to him. He takes deep, gasping breaths, trying to calm himself down. Trying to erase the thoughts of fathers and daughters and people who begged him to spare their lives that he ignored.
What had Janet Weaver's father done? Who had he worked for? Why did Hydra need to get rid of him?
Bucky doesn't remember the answers; he just remembers the life leaving those hazel eyes.
He should call Dr. Raynor, really. That's who he's supposed to call in situations like this. But he knows what she'll say. She'll try to run him through breathing exercises, try to tell him to find a "cool down" activity. Bucky doesn't have a cool down activity.
It's stupid, but Bucky's reaching for his phone again. He dials the only other name in his contact list.
"Did you call for a good time?" A high-pitched voice answers.
"I'll kill you," Bucky breathes out.
He's met with laughter on the other line. "Mr. Barnes, have you no sense of humor?"
"Can you meet me?" Bucky asks, and he must sound urgent enough because Sam stops laughing at his own joke.
Sam names some bar Bucky's never been to but has seen the sign of and gives instructions to be there within the hour. Bucky hangs up the phone.
*****
Sam's picked out some war-themed bar downtown.
It's probably ironic- maybe a little upsetting- that they're surrounded by so many American flags, but whatever. Bucky wouldn't be surprised if there's a picture of Captain America himself hanging up around here. He doesn't look for it.
They're sitting at the bar, sipping on beers that Sam picked out. Sam's staring at the TV above the bar, watching whatever baseball game is on it, and Bucky's gripping his bottle unnaturally tight, staring at the wall of bottles.
"You wanna talk about it?" Sam asks.
"Talk about what?" Bucky sips his beer.
"Whatever made you call."
Bucky swallows. He looks to Sam whose still watching the TV. Bucky isn't sure where to start. Sam brings his own bottle to his lips to take another sip and Bucky asks, "How many people have you killed?"
Sam splutters slightly on the alcohol. He coughs some, and Bucky passes him a napkin to wipe up the beer that fell onto the bar. Sam shakes his head slightly. "What the hell kind of a question is that?"
Bucky just shrugs.
Sam stares at him in slight disbelief for a second before answering. "I don't know. Not a lot, I don't think. I hope not. I don't really keep a list of these things."
Bucky just hums, drinking his beer. He's turned to look at the TV himself, but he can feel Sam's eyes on him still.
"Do you keep a list of these things?" Sam asks. His voice has softened.
"Some of them," Bucky answers back quietly. "There's too many to keep the full list."
Bucky watches out of the corner of his eye- expecting to see Sam's facial expression change, expecting to see him remember that he's next to a cold-blooded killer and turn and leave. It doesn't happen. Sam just says, "That's a morbid thing to keep a list of."
And he's not wrong.
Bucky reaches into his jacket and pulls out the notebook. He slides it down the bar to Sam who raises an eyebrow at it. "This Steve's little book?" Sam asks with a slight chuckle.
Bucky just nods, throat tight. He drinks some more beer.
Sam flickers through the pages some, looking at the list and the notes Steve left behind. Bucky doesn't look at those pages anymore. Sam eventually gets to Bucky's own list. He studies the names on it, seeing the ones that are crossed out and still open. He surely doesn't recognize any of them but he's smart. He knows what they mean.
"Your therapist tell you to do this?" Sam asks quietly.
"Not exactly," Bucky mutters.
Sam raises an eyebrow at that but doesn't question it. "Who did you try to make amends with today?"
"J. Weaver," Bucky replies. He answers the follow-up question Sam doesn't ask. "I killed her father in his office in D.C.. I don't remember how long ago it was."
"He killed her father," Sam corrects.
Bucky glares at him. "It was my hand that did it."
"It wasn't you, though. You weren't in your own head. You know that."
Bucky's grip on his bottle tightens impossibly further. "It doesn't make it easier, you know. The Winter Soldier's nightmares are my nightmares. Those people died by my hands. It doesn't matter if I wasn't in my own head or not. They're in my head."
Sam is quiet. Bucky glances over at him to see his expression pensive. It's selfish of him to be putting Sam in this position really. What is Sam even supposed to say? There's no comfort here. And Sam's certainly got his own fair share of problems; he has to deal with life outside of Bucky.
"I'm sorry," Bucky says. He tosses a few dollars on the bar. "I shouldn't keep calling you like this. I'll leave you alone." He goes to get up, but Sam catches him by the arm.
"It's nice," Sam murmurs. He says it so quietly Bucky almost doesn't hear it over the noise of the bar.
'What?" Bucky asks, confused.
"It's nice for you to call," Sam clarifies. He's looking at Bucky very intensely right now, and it's for the first time that Bucky realizes how pretty his eyes are. They're a dark brown, and they eye Bucky with emotions he isn't familiar with. "I don't miss you or anything, don't get me wrong..." Sam chuckles softly. And Bucky isn't stupid. He's gotten exceptional at reading people over the years, and he can tell that Sam is trying to joke, trying to take a light-hearted tone so he doesn't have to deal with the seriousness of the conversation. "It's nice just to hear that there might be someone out there dealing with more fucked up stuff than me," Sam finishes.
"It's comforting to know that I'm fucked up?" Bucky asks.
"It's comforting to know I'm not alone," Sam tells him.
Bucky doesn't know what to say. He glances towards the door of the bar, then back to Sam's grip on his arm. He sighs and sits down.
Yeah, guess it is comforting.
*****
Bucky and Sam start spending more time together after that.
Bucky isn't really sure how it happens, but he's stopped allowing himself to complain. In addition to weekly lunches with Yuri and therapy appointments with Dr. Raynor, he finds himself becoming acquainted with weekly hangouts with Sam. Sometimes they go out and do something, like grocery shop or go for a jog. ("Why do I always end up jogging with super soldiers?" Sam asks. "You guys are like buff Forest Gumps!"). Other times they go to bars and drink beer and talk about nothing. Bucky likes those nights more. There's nothing that needs to be said. Sam's presence is a comfort to him he'll never acknowledge.
Dr. Raynor comments that his mood's been improving greatly. He doesn't notice the change, but she looks at him with something softer in her smile, something less worrisome in her eyes. He'll take it, he guesses.
Bucky's given up on the list of amends for now. What was it that Sam had said to him about it? They had been at a different bar, and Sam had caught Bucky eyeing the names on the list again.
"They don't have to forgive you," Sam said. Bucky had glared at him, and Sam had elaborated, "You have to forgive yourself, but they don't have to forgive you. Trust me, one's more important than the other."
Bucky hadn't been sure how he felt about that, so the list was on hiatus. The amends would be there to make as long as he was.
Sam's at Bucky's apartment now, forcing him to listen to Marvin Gaye on the fancy speakers he talked Bucky into buying.
"I put Steve onto this, y'know," Sam says. "He ever show you?"
"I'm more into 40s music," Bucky grumbles from his place on the floor. Sam's occupying the couch, all sprawled out on it like he owns the place, so Bucky's made himself comfortable on the floor beside it. He doesn't mind.
"40s, shmortys," Sam says. "Music didn't get good until the 60s."
"To each their own," Bucky shrugs.
"Nah," Sam sits up, staring at Bucky with more intensity than is probably warranted for a conversation so casual. "This is not a to each their own scenario."
"I thought music was subjective?" Bucky says with a frown.
Sam snorts. "Only people with bad music taste say that."
Bucky just rolls his eyes.
They sit there for a while just listening to the music. Suddenly, a song starts that really gets Sam going. "Oh shit!" He exclaims.
Bucky nearly flinches. "Am I supposed to be recognizing this?"
"Oh my god, Bucky, you've never heard Marvin Gaye's most popular single "Let's Get It On?"" Sam exclaims. Bucky just stares at him blankly and Sam gasps melodramatically. He's on his feet in an instant, running over to the speaker to crank up the volume.
" I've been really tryin' baby, tryin' to hold back this feeling for so long," Sam sings, dancing around Bucky's small living room with all the flair in the world. Bucky can't help but laugh a little even as his cheeks redden. And why is he blushing? He doesn't know.
Sam approaches him, holding out a hand. "Dance with me, soldier."
Bucky shakes his head. "Absolutely not."
"Come on, Buckaroo, don't be a stick in the mud," Sam flaps his hand insistently. "Daaance with me."
"I can't believe you're an Avenger," Bucky snorts. "You're really a giant child."
"And you're just an old man," Sam retorts. "Let's tango, grandpa."
"I'm not dancing with you," Bucky glares.
But Sam's insistent. He grabs Bucky's metal arm and pulls up when he doesn't resist. Bucky lets out an exasperated sigh. He could shove Sam across the room easily- should shove Sam across the room- but he figures it's easier to allow this.
Sam gets Bucky to his feet and releases him to go back to his own movements. He scowls when Bucky remains standing stiffly with his arms by his side.
"Seriously?" Sam snorts. "That's all you got."
"I haven't danced since circa 1943," Bucky grumbles in response. "Give me a break."
"Allow me to refresh your memory," Sam's back in Bucky's space then. He grabs Bucky's hand and pauses for a second, as if he's waiting to be pushed away. For whatever reason, Bucky doesn't. And for whatever other reason, Bucky's heart starts beating faster now that Sam's holding his hand, standing right in front of him. Sam starts moving them to the beat of the music, stepping back and forth and side to side and moving across the small space of Bucky's living room.
"Damn, Bucky, do you actually have rhythm?" Sam laughs.
Bucky scowls at him, fighting the blush that wants to creep up on his neck. "Why do you act so surprised when I can do things? I didn't live in a prison cell my whole life, Sam."
"Yeah, yeah, alright," Sam's grinning at him and has Bucky ever seen that look on his face?
They dance until the song ends. When it's over, Sam lets his hands fall and Bucky coughs to hide his disappointment. He's glad that he's kept his gloves on because he's certain that his palms are sweaty and he's breathing a little heavy and his heart is racing and what is wrong with him exactly? Bucky must be behaving in his usual uncomfortable manner because Sam backs away from him to grab his phone from where he left it on the couch.
"Oh shit," Sam says as he checks the time. "It's getting late. I should probably head home. Don't want to stay out past curfew."
"You could stay." Bucky speaks so quickly he's not even sure if he said the words aloud.
Sam raises an eyebrow. "Seriously? I always have to force you aside to let me in the door and now you're inviting me for a slumber party?"
"We're grown men," Bucky grunts. "We're not having a slumber party. I'm inviting you to sleep on my couch for the night."
"Aw, Bucky, you don't wanna give each other makeovers and stay up late talking about boys?" Sam teases.
Bucky's sure that the super soldier serum does nothing to hide the reddening of his cheeks. "The window is closing."
"Alright, Mr. Anti Slumber Party," Sam chuckles. "I'll sleep on the couch and try to keep the gossip to a minimum."
*****
Bucky's sitting in the back of the jet. He leans back in his seat, stretching his legs. He takes a look out the window, watching the sea below them. The last few hours- hell, the last few days- had been beyond exhausting and confusing. Oh how his peace had been disrupted so quickly. But perhaps there was something good to come out of it.
"You alright, Buck?"
Bucky's head shoots up to the voice. Steve is sitting just a few seats in front of him, watching the controls even though the jet is on auto. Oh, Stevie, ever the worrisome.
"I'm just thinking," Bucky answers quietly.
"Thinking about what?" Steve turns in his seat to face him, frown apparent on his handsome features.
"Am I really worth all this, Steve?"
Bucky watches as Steve's features change. First, he looks sad, then a little angry, then he lands on thoughtful.
"You're worth everything, Buck," Steve says seriously, piercing blue eyes meeting Bucky's gaze. "I would do all of this again to protect you."
Bucky just stares at him in awe. He should say it now, shouldn't he? Before it's too late? Before whatever is about to happen happens. Before Bucky can speak, Steve is turning back to the controls.
"We're here," He says. "Gotta land." Steve turns back to give Bucky that dazzling Rogers smile. "I'm with you till the end of the line, Buck. You know that."
The scene changes.
The Soldier is standing over his latest victim. His hand is wrapped around the victim's throat, squeezing tightly.
"Bucky! Please!"
The Soldier looks down. Kneeling before him, clinging to life is Steve Rogers.
"Bucky, it's me," Steve's voice is hoarse; he's losing his breath. He's dying.
The Soldier looks into Steve's eyes. They're full of tears.
"Please," Steve begs.
The Soldier cocks his head to the side, then squeezes tighter.
"Steve! No! I'm sorry!"
Bucky's eyes fly open, searching desperately for Steve. Steve isn't there.
But he's not alone either.
Sam is in the room, kneeling beside the bed. He's shirtless, just wearing the black pants he had been wearing yesterday. He remains quiet, watching Bucky with an expression full of concern. It's the second time that Bucky notices how pretty his eyes are. That dark brown gaze bores into Bucky with so much worry it nearly makes him shudder.
Bucky sits up in his bed and sees a glass of water on his nightstand. He doesn't know if he got that himself before he fell asleep or if Sam brought it for him at some point, but he grabs it and chugs it down regardless. Sam still doesn't say anything, just watches as Bucky drinks the water and steadies his breathing. The only sounds in the apartment are Bucky's heart beating and the distant chatter of the TV that Sam must've had on in the living room.
Finally, Sam asks, "Are you okay?"
Bucky just look at him, unsure of what to say. He doesn't know why Sam's still in the room. Truthfully, he doesn't know why Sam's still around him at all. Had they been that close before? They hadn't known each other long; had only known each other at all because Sam was loyal to Steve and Steve was loyal to Bucky. Sam had been annoying for most of their time together, always cracking obnoxious jokes and he and Bucky's fighting styles and personalities clashed greatly. Bucky had always gotten the impression that Sam didn't truly trust him. Sam always looked at him wearily like he was expecting the Winter Soldier to emerge and begin attacking any second. He never confronted Bucky or questioned his loyalty because he trusted Steve's judgement. But then again, was Steve even right about Bucky?
"Bucky?" Sam interrupts his thoughts.
"Why are you here?" Bucky asks, voice cold.
Sam frowns slightly. "You told me to stay here last night. I was asleep on the couch and-"
"No," Bucky interrupts, "Why are you here>? With me? Why have you been around the last couple months?"
"I don't know what you want me to say," Sam is frowning deeper now, speaking in a confused tone.
"Why did you furnish my apartment? Why have you been going out to bars with me and coming over and showing me things and talking to me about Steve and why?" Bucky's voice breaks slightly. He isn't sure why. Maybe the dream about Steve hurts differently than the others.
"I-" Sam starts.
Bucky cuts him off again. "You don't have to pity me just because you think you owe it to Steve. Steve had a lot of misguided intentions."
"Bucky-"
"No, Sam, just get out. Just move on with your life and be the Falcon and I'll-"
This time Bucky's the one interrupted.
Sam's moved so suddenly not even Bucky's reflexes register it. Sam's hands come up to hold Bucky's face and he leans forward. He presses his lips to Bucky's so softly, so gently. Bucky startles at first, body tensing, but he finds it in him to reach out and grab onto Sam's shoulders to steady himself. He kisses back slowly, allowing Sam's tongue to just tease into his mouth.
Bucky can't remember the last time he kissed someone. It must've been a one-night stand sometime during the war, some girl he can barely remember the face of. He isn't really sure why Sam is kissing him now, but he can't complain. It's nice. He isn't thinking about the dream or Steve or the Soldier right now. His mind has narrowed to Sam, the warm hands on his face and the soft lips against his own.
Sam pulls away when they run out of air, but he keeps his hands on Bucky's face.
"I'm not here because of Steve," Sam says firmly, still slightly out of breath. "Like I said before, I'm here because we have things in common. We understand each other. You have nightmares, I have 'em too. I don't pity you. I'm not here to take care of you. I'm here because drinking beer and dancing to Marvin Gaye with you has been the most at peace I've been in a long ass time." Sam pauses, running a thumb over Bucky's cheekbone. "Oh, and because when you don't have a massive stick up your ass and you're not being the grumpiest senior citizen alive, I actually really like you. Is that enough?"
Bucky can't do anything but nod.
*****
After Sam leaves his apartment that morning, Bucky goes into a panic.
Sam had said nothing about the kiss, hadn't asked any further questions about Bucky's nightmares. He just got himself dressed, ate a bowl of cereal, then left with a promise to call later. Bucky doesn't say anything.
It's times like these that he wishes he had someone- anyone- other than Sam to talk to. He could call Dr. Raynor, sure, but what help would she be? She would tell him to reflect on his feelings or to talk to Sam about them or some other advice he wouldn't follow. He feels bad for her, he really does. She tries so hard to listen and to get him to open up, but Bucky just makes things worse on her.
Makes things worse on everyone.
Sam may genuinely believe that Bucky's improved his life over the last couple months, but he's wrong. He should get out while he can. He should get out before Bucky burdens him further.
Bucky should go to the gym or go out or do anything to distract himself from his feelings, but he doesn't have the energy. He plops back into his bed, staring at the ceiling. He considers blocking Sam's number so he never gets the promised call. What is there to discuss? Does Sam want to apologize? Confess his feelings? Does Bucky want to confess his own?
Truthfully, Bucky doesn't know what his feelings are.
He hasn't longed for anyone since Steve, and even then, he'd gotten over that towards the end. He'd accepted the fact that Steve loved and cared for him, but in the way that brothers do, not lovers. Bucky had been fine with that. When all was said and done and the fight was over and he was snapped back into existence, he had no desire to date. He'd had no time over the last decade to figure out who he was, and with his brain free from Hydra's restraints he'd had every intention of doing so, ideally with his best friend by his side.
Things had not worked out that way.
It's not the rejection or the abandonment that stings. It's the confusion. Bucky's spent the last nearly ten years of his life seeing himself through Steve's eyes. He only ever had any faith that he wasn't a monster because Steve did. The only memories he had that weren't gunshots and hands around throats and death and pain were memories with Steve. Bucky had no concept of himself as an individual.
And then there was Sam.
Sam who had just kissed him this morning. Sam who'd spent the last couple months hanging around Bucky apparently because he liked him. Apparently because he'd craved the quality time in the way that Bucky didn't even realize he had. And Sam did so not out of an obligation to Steve or anyone else, but because he wanted to. How could he want to? What was appealing about someone like Bucky at all that someone like Sam- who Bucky would insult constantly but could do nothing but admire- would want him? There's no way.
Bucky reaches for the Starkphone on his nightstand. He opens his contact list, clicks on Sam's name, and hits the block button.
He's ending this before it's too late.
*****
It's three days later when Bucky's roughly shaken awake.
He moves instantly, metal arm grasping tightly onto whoever's just touched him. No matter how long it's been, those instincts are still there. Anyone's a fool to sneak up on him.
Bucky's eyes focus and he sees Sam before him, choking slightly and straining against the grip Bucky has on his throat. Bucky releases him instantly, body relaxing, and he watches as Sam gasps for air for a moment.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam snaps, coughing.
"You snuck up on me!" Bucky snaps back. "Do you know how many people probably want to kill me in my sleep?"
Sam looks a little remorseful after that. "Sorry," He grumbles.
Bucky takes a good look at him to see he's dressed casually in a grey collared shirt and jeans. He's caught his breath from Bucky's grip and is now watching him cautiously.
"How did you even get in here?" Bucky asks, sitting up more comfortably in his bed.
"You left the door unlocked, dumbass," Sam says. "Came by here after you wouldn't answer any of my calls for three days. You know, for some paranoid assassin, you sure aren't smart about basic safety procedures."
Bucky glares at him. "Why are you here then?"
"I just said you didn't answer my calls for three days," Sam explains like it's obvious. "And we need to talk. So get your bionic ass out of bed and let's go get some breakfast. I'm starving."
Bucky considers arguing, but determines there's no point. He does mentally kick himself for leaving his door unlocked, though. Rookie mistake. "Fine. Get out so I can get dressed."
Bucky throws on a blue sweatshirt and a pair of jeans.They end up at a diner a few blocks away. Bucky gets an omelet and some coffee, Sam gets a four pancake breakfast with bacon, eggs, and toast. They sit in awkward silence for a while, munching on their food, before Sam speaks.
"Alright, Buckaroo, spill the beans."
"I hate it when you call me that," Bucky grunts.
"Don't care, didn't ask," Sam pops a bite of bacon into his mouth. "Now do you want to explain why you ghosted me?"
"I don't know what that means."
Sam rolls his eyes. "Ghosting is when you cut someone off with no warning or explanation. You know, like blocking someone's number after you make out with them and never contacting them again."
Bucky stiffens. He looks down at his plate, twirling some egg on his fork to avoid the question.
"If you're not interested in me, just say that," Sam continues, voice serious. "If I've overstepped some boundary, if you're sick of seeing me all the time, please just say that. I'm a big boy, Bucky. I can handle the truth."
Bucky feels guilty then. Sam had thought that Bucky cutting him off was because he wasn't interested? Bucky sighs. He doesn't know how to do this. He doesn't know how to confess his feelings, where to start.
"I was in love with Steve," Bucky blurts out.
Sam chokes on his coffee. "What?"
Fuck. Why did he say that?
"Umm..." Bucky lets out an exasperated breath. Guess he'll have to get into this now. "I was in love with Steve. For a while. Probably up until around after the Accords? I think when I was in Wakanda, I got over it. Came to terms with what we were and what we were never going to be."
"I never knew," Sam says softly. Bucky meets his eyes and frowns when he can't figure out what emotion is present in them.
"That's probably a good thing," Bucky replies. "Steve never knew either, then. The truth is, for a while I didn't know who I was outside of Steve. I never even knew my own personality. I mean, I know the things I used to do, used to like. But they all seem so far away. Am I even that person anymore?" Sam is quiet as Bucky speaks, but he reaches a delicate hand out onto the table. Bucky takes it without thinking. "And then you come into my life and... You get me. You see the things that I do. You pull things out of me that I didn't know were hidden. And now I'm moving on from everything... But the thing is, I don't know who I am after this. When I stop having the nightmares, when I stop hating myself... What's left?"
Sam is quiet for a while. He stares at Bucky's face, unrecognizable feelings passing across his expression. He gives Bucky's hand a gentle squeeze and lets out a sigh. "Your favorite book is the Hobbit. You take way too many beers to get tipsy. You act like you hate dancing and going out but really you like it, it just makes you nervous. You're a good listener, not just cause you're quiet, but because you really listen. You've been through some of the most fucked up shit out there and yet you still listen to me talk about mundane things. You're cranky all the time and quite frankly very annoying, but you're the only one who's been through the same things and you're the only one who gets it. I know you don't know who you are, and the truth is, I don't know who I am either. But if you want, I think we could figure it out together."
Bucky stares agape. His eyes are a little watery, and he should be ashamed, should suck up the tears. But he hasn't cried in so long. It's nice to feel. He stares into Sam's eyes, stares at his whole face. Sam is handsome, and funny and smart and so damn annoying but Bucky hates the days without him.
"Yeah," Bucky says, small smile creeping onto his face. "I think I'd like that."
*****
Bucky hasn't dated in decades.
He's never really dated seriously, either. Before he fell off that cliff, he'd spent so much time pining over someone who wanted someone else that he never dedicated himself to anyone serious. And after that, well... When would he have time to even want to date someone? He had moved on from the whole Steve thing- accepted that they would always just be best friends and nothing more- and now Steve isn't even around to be some object of desire.
Bucky never gave much thought to who he would date at any point. It seemed like a waste of time to even consider. Never in a million years would he have ever imagined it would be Sam Wilson. Sam Wilson who sings in the shower, Sam Wilson who can eat a large pizza by himself in one sitting, Sam Wilson who keeps photos of his parents and his nephews in his wallet, Sam Wilson who will not hesitate to argue with Bucky over something as small as a coffee order ("You drink black coffee, Bucky? Seriously? Not even a little sugar?"), Sam Wilson who makes old person jokes at Bucky constantly.
Sam stays over often. He shows up at random times, too, to bring Bucky coffee (which he still complains about) or just to laze about on his couch. They go out to restaurants more than bars and sit across from each other having actual conversations. It's unusual, but Bucky likes it. It starts out with Sam doing most of the talking- going on about his family or telling war stories or going on obscure rants about random things that piss him off like crossing guards or tofurkey- but eventually Bucky opens up some too. Sam seems to like hearing about the dumb shit Bucky got up to in his teenage years, like pranking neighbors or getting legendary whiskey hangovers.
Sam's started filling him in on mission reports too. Apparently, there's a new radical group brewing online that may pose a big threat. Something about wanting to bring things back to the way they were during the blip. It sounds like it's gonna be a problem, but deep down, Bucky's glad to be let in on it. Sam extends an offer that Bucky can join the task force investigating it whenever he's ready, Bucky doesn't quite trust himself in the field yet, but it's nice to know the job's there when he wants it.
Dr. Raynor knows something's up and presses Bucky for answers, but he doesn't give them. He confirms that he's spending an awful lot of time with Sam, but nothing further. She asks about the list of amends and he forgets he even has it. She asks about the nightmares and he knows they still come, but he also knows there's strong arms in his bed waiting to shake him awake from them.
*****
Sex is a different story.
The last time Bucky had sex was probably with the same girl he kissed last; the random war-time hook-up with a traveler he never knew the identity of. It's not as if Bucky isn't interested in sex, he'd jut never had the time.
He and Sam took things slow. Despite Sam's denial, Bucky could tell the other man sort of walked around him on it, worried how much contact Bucky was comfortable with. Bucky rarely initiated their little touches and almost never their kisses. Sam would usually bend down to give him a "little sugar" as he described it whenever they departed, but that was it for a while.
They start sleeping in the same bed when Sam stays over. When they make out, Sam's hand slowly gravitates towards Bucky's ass but doesn't quite get there and finally Bucky has to say, "Sam, I'm not a 106-year-old virgin. You can touch me." And Sam just says, "Oh," and slips a hand into Bucky's sweatpants.
Things progress after that, from groping-filled make-out sessions to handjobs to blowjobs to actual sex. They argue during sex like they do most things- "You don't have to fist me as prep, dumbass" and "You got cum on my ear, asshole!"- but Bucky wouldn't change it. They laugh a lot during it, too. Sweaty bodies and embraces and jokes and laugh in between thrusts and sensual touches.
Sam isn't a complete softie, but he touches Bucky in sweet, soft ways that Bucky can't remember the last time he's been touched that way. Maybe he never has. Sam peppers his body with kisses, intertwines their fingers when Sam's inside of him, holds Bucky close to his sweaty chest when all is said and done.
They finish one night, out of breath and tired from laughing at the terrible boner joke Sam made right after he came, and lay there together, sweating in Bucky's sheets when Sam asks, "What's your favorite color?"
"Hmm?" Bucky mumbles, slightly disoriented from being bent in half with Sam inside of him and about ready to pass out on the other man's chest.
"Your favorite color," Sam repeats. "I know all this crazy shit about you, but I don't even know your favorite color."
"I don't have a favorite color," Bucky frowns.
"Bullshit," Sam snorts. "Everyone has a favorite color."
"What's yours?" Bucky props himself up onto his elbows, looking at Sam fondly as he speaks.
"Red, for redwing, duh," Sam says with a smirk.
Bucky rolls his eyes. "I ought to smash that thing one day."
"You can try all you want, but he will outfly you," Sam laughs. "Now come on, Barnes, spill the beans. Favorite color?"
Bucky thinks for a moment. "I don't know. I'd probably say red, too."
"Hey! You can't steal my answer!"
Bucky gives Sam a playful slap to the cheek, feather light. "I like red because it reminds me of you, dipshit." His voice is lower there, incredibly soft and sheepish at this admission of feelings. Sam looks at him like he hung the moon.
Sam kisses him sweetly. Bucky cherishes it.
*****
They've been dating for three months when Sam asks.
"Do you wanna meet my sister?"
Bucky nearly chokes on his cereal. They're sitting at his kitchen table, eating breakfast before Bucky has to go to therapy and Sam has to go on a patrol. "What?" Bucky asks, drinking some orange juice to wash down the Honey Nut Cheerios he's nearly spat onto the table.
"My sister," Sam says dramatically slow, "Do you want to meet her?"
"I heard what you said," Bucky grumbles, ignoring Sam's smirk. "But why?"
"Why what?" Sam asks through a mouthful of toast.
"Why do you want me to meet your sister?" Bucky can't lie that the prospect terrifies him. He isn't scare of commitment, or of the sentiment carried with meeting Sam's family. What terrifies him is Sam's sister's opinion of him. It's so juvenile, but Bucky can't help but think What if she doesn't like him? What if she's scared of him? What if she sees him for who he was, not who he is?
"Because I think you two would hit it off," Sam replies, oblivious to Buck's internal monologue. "And I've been spending most nights over here, so Sarah wants to meet the man who's holding me captive."
"I think you're more the one holding mecaptive," Bucky retorts.
"How can you be held captive in your own home?" Sam steals a piece of toast off of Bucky's plate.
"Does she know who I am?" Bucky asks nervously.
"Well, duh."
"No, Sam, does she know who I am."
Sam's face grows serious and he meets Bucky's eyes. Damn, those beautiful browns. "If your question is does she know who the Winter Soldier is, then yes. She does know. And she also knows that that's not who you are. You are the grumpy little boyfriend who eats sushi and watches PBS and lets me fuck him into the mattress each night."
Bucky nearly chokes again. "You talk to her about that?!"
Sam shrugs. "You never talked to your sisters about sex?"
"Of course not!" Bucky exclaims.
Sam just rolls his eyes. "Prude. Anyway, she wants us to come for dinner on Friday. You in?"
"I don't know," Bucky averts Sam's gaze, stirring the milk in his cereal bowl around with his spoon. "Might be busy."
"Busy doing what?" Sam asks with raised eyebrows. "Your weekly plans consist of me, Yuri, and therapy."
"I have other things going on, thank you very much," Bucky grunts.
Sam reaches across the table to grab Bucky's hand. "What are you scared of?"
"I'm not good at meeting people," Bucky admits.
"Neither is Sarah," Sam squeezes his hand gently. "She's actually kind of a dick."
Bucky tries to fight the smile creeping onto his face. "I'm being serious."
"I know," Sam murmurs. "Just think, Bucky, that if someone as wonderful and sexy and smart as me can like you, surely anyone else will too."
"You are the least comforting person I've ever met," Bucky says, but he's smiling. Sam is too, and he knows he's lost the battle.
*****
Bucky has decided that he is dating the inferior Wilson.
Sarah is much smarter, much nicer, a much better cook.
Sarah makes them a spaghetti dinner at her house. Bucky half expects to be interrogated by her, but she just hugs him easily, gives him a quick lecture to not break her brother's heart, and encourages him to sit at the table while she forces Sam to help finish up with dinner. They're eating out on the deck, admiring the view of the port and the boats pulling in. It's serene and Bucky's grateful for it.
Her sons hang around him, staring curiously. Her youngest reaches out to touch the metal arm, and Bucky's surprised when he doesn't flinch.
"Boys, don't harass our guest please," Sarah reprimands.
"I don't mind," Bucky's quick to say. "Here." He picks Jody up easily with his arm, allowing him to hold on and lifting up and down as if the boy were using a pull-up bar. Jody laughs, holding on tight. The weight is nothing to Bucky, and it's nice to use the arm for something nonviolent; for something nice. Jody's older brother Jim asks for his turn next, and Bucky's happy to oblige.
"Alright, time to get off the Bucky Barnes jungle gym," Sam announces, bringing full plates of food over to the table on the dock. "Dinner is served."
"The food is amazing, thank you," Bucky compliments as he takes a bite of Sarah's spaghetti.
"Thank you so much, sweetie," Sarah smiles. "I'm glad someone around here appreciates my cooking."
"I appreciate you plenty," Sam grumbles.
"It's certainly better than the time Sam tried to make baked ziti," Bucky comments. "He nearly burned down my apartment."
Sarah and the boys all laugh at that and Sam glares, throwing a meatball in Bucky's generally direction and missing only due to sheer reflex. "You're not much better of a chef, Robocop."
"Hey, don't bully him," Sarah scolds. "He's an honorary member of the family now."
"And I'm not?!" Sam asks, feigning anger.
"No, you're the dishonorable brother," Sarah laughs. "Now, eat up, kiddos. There's plenty to go around."
They finish dinner. Bucky offers to do the dishes, but Sarah insists the boys do it. She says she wants to teach them responsibility.
"Come here a second," Sam says. "I want to show you something."
Bucky follows Sam down towards the end of the dock. They pass by various boats docked for the night. Sam stops at a decent sized boat towards the end; it's red, white and blue with Paul and Darlene painted on the side. Bucky recognizes those as Sam's parents' names and smiles. Must be the family boat.
Bucky follows as Sam climbs up onto the boat. He turns to offer Bucky a hand, who scoffs at him. "You think I can't climb onto a boat?"
"Didn't want to test your knee caps, old man," Sam teases.
When they're both standing aboard, Sam reaches a delicate arm out to wrap around Bucky's waist. Bucky allows it. He allows himself to be guided towards the front of the boat. The view is gorgeous, blue lake water expanding off into the distance, the sun setting in the sky. Bucky feels unbelievably at peace here, with Sam's arm wrapped loosely around him and the calming sounds of water surrounding them. Bucky doesn't know how he got here, but he's grateful for it.
He feels Sam's eyes on him. "What is it?"
Sam just shakes his head and laughs quietly. "Nothing."
"Tell me," Bucky pouts.
"Really, it's nothing," Sam says, smiling. "And that's what's nice. It's nice for there to be nothing. Just us."
"Yeah," Bucky agrees. "It is."
They're quiet for a while longer. Bucky eventually leans into Sam' bringing his arms up to pull the other man into a hug. Sam hugs back tightly.
"Thank you," Bucky says into his chest.
"For what?" Sam asks.
"I think you know."
They hold onto each other. Bucky cherishes the peace, the protection. He's figuring out who he is. He's doing well, at least for now. He has Sam. Peace is near.
"Should we head back?" Sam asks softly. "Don't want Grandpa to be out past curfew."
"I'll kill you," Bucky says.
"You'd miss me too much."
Bucky can't deny that.