The decision to download the app had been made on a whim. Bucky still wasn’t the best with technology, but he had his phone down pretty well. He’d been thinking about Dottie, or Dot, as he used to call her. Dot was cute, Dot was sweet, and Dot was nice. Dot was everything Bucky looked for in a girl back in the 40s.
He’d found himself feeling lonely, much as he hated to admit it. Steve was gone, now. Not dead, not yet, but he wasn’t the Steve that Bucky knew anymore, and Bucky found it painful to be around the older man. He had a home, in Wakanda, for a time, but he felt disconnected there, too. He liked the anonymity of the city now, the apartment building where he lived, but he was quickly finding that anonymity was more alienating than comforting. He was used to disappearing, but now he wanted someone to see him.
He probably should have told his therapist that, instead of the usual bullshit that he spewed during their sessions. Instead, he downloaded Tinder.
Tinder was…. A strange place. In Bucky’s time, courtship was a dance. You’d try to catch the eye of a pretty girl, maybe she’d want to go out with you. Now, Bucky was bombarded by photos, date requests, and messages that Sam would have described as “thirsty”. Some of the girls were definitely outside of the age range he’d set, and he didn’t like that one bit.
It took him a while, but he finally found someone who looked… relatively normal. Her name was Charlotte, but she went by Charlie. She had short brown hair, a pretty smile, and a piercing in her nose. Bucky found that he liked that. Her message was good, too, simple but enough to convey her interest. So he messaged her back.
He got a response right away.
He messaged with Charlie for a while. It was light, and it was fun, and eventually they agreed to meet up in person. They went to a bar, one that was a bit fancier than Bucky usually liked, but he’d always been willing to pay a good price to make a pretty girl happy.
The date was… nice. Charlie was as nice as she seemed in the messages. She was down to earth, with a bit of a cocky attitude, and a realism that he found refreshing. She didn’t expect much from him, and insisted on paying her half of the check.
She wanted to kiss him at the end of the date, but Bucky thought it was too soon for that. He didn’t see Charlie again. That was the world they were living in, now. It was easy to swipe and find another guy. He didn’t blame her, rather the opposite. He wished he could do the same.
The next girl’s name was Emily. Emily was sweet, with less of the realism that Charlie had, but with a certain enthusiasm for life that Bucky envied. They didn’t hit it off, particularly. She was nice, again, and she let him pay for her drinks. She got some smiles out of him, even a couple of laughs. But there wasn’t anything there. So he moved on.
The next girl came, and the next. A blonde, a redhead, a tough girl in a leather jacket, a sweet girl in a sundress. Bucky was having difficulty identifying what his type was.
“What are you looking for, exactly, Bucky?” his therapist asked him during one session. He’d mentioned something off hand about the date, and before he knew it she’d worked the information about his Tinder account out of him.
Bucky raised an eyebrow. “What is anyone on Tinder looking for?”
“Nice try. I know you’re not looking for a quick fuck, Barnes. What are you looking for?”
Bucky hated his therapist sometimes. She was too good at her job, and able to see right through him. That probably meant she was a good fit.
He shifted slightly in his seat.
“I.. don’t know. It was a whim.”
“Whims are always inspired by something.”
“I guess I’ve been feeling lonely.”
“Tell me more about that.”
Bucky frowned. “What’s there to tell? My best friend is gone, I’m stuck in a world that I don’t totally understand, and the most human contact I have is with the woman who is paid to spend time with me.”
She snorted. “That is sad.”
She tapped a finger on the arm of her chair. “You once told me you wanted to disappear. To just vanish out of the world, to be left alone. What changed?”
Bucky didn’t know the answer to that question, but he dwelled on it in the following weeks. He wasn’t sure what had changed. He did say that, in one of his early sessions. He was overwhelmed with the world, with his mind, with everything, and he wanted out. Not in a death sort of way, but he wanted people to stop seeing him. Now he was actively seeking out people to have a connection with. So why wasn’t he feeling the connection?
The answer was obvious, really.
“I’m trying to let these girls get to know me,” Bucky said slowly. His therapist looked at him from across the room. “But I can’t tell them who I am.”
“You are not defined by your past, Bucky,” she said, in a gentler tone than he’d ever heard from the tough woman. He waved a hand dismissively.
“I know. But my past is part of me. And I still feel the impacts of it. Without at least a basic understanding of it, how can they really get to know me?”
“It sounds to me like you aren’t looking for a fresh start at all. You’re looking for acceptance. Someone who knows what you did, knows the worst parts of you, and accepts you.”
Bucky kept a blank face, despite the prickle of tears in his eyes. He cried later that night, silent, shaking sobs. Her words awakened a deep hunger in him, an ache, a hole in his heart that he hadn’t known existed before. He hadn’t allowed himself to want in a long time. And now that he knew what he wanted, he couldn’t stop wanting it. Even if it was something he would never get.
Something he didn’t deserve to get.
***
He was watching TV when he saw it. Bucky usually avoided the news, but when he saw the headline, his jaw dropped. He felt sick to his stomach when he saw the suit, saw the shield- and saw a stranger wielding them.
His phone was in his hand before he knew what was happening, and the number was dialed. The line rang three times.
“Bucky?”
Sam’s voice sounded on the other end, and Bucky suddenly found himself speechless.
“Uh, hi,” he said, struggling to get the words out. He knew what he wanted to call Sam about, but the rich sound of the other man’s voice struck a chord inside him. He knew Sam. Sam was a reminder of everything that Bucky had been through, everything he was trying to avoid. And yet Bucky found that it wasn’t an unwelcome reminder, or an unwelcome sound.
“Eloquent as ever, I see,” Sam said, a note of humor in his voice. Bucky could hear the strain from the other end of the line. Sam must have seen.
“You gonna tell me who this clown in Steve’s suit is? The clown with your shield?” Bucky asked.
Sam was silent for a moment. “I’ll fill you in. Can you meet?”
Seeing Sam in person again was strange. The last time they’d parted had been a few days after Steve left for the past. Steve had them over for dinner, the three of them sitting awkwardly around the table in the home that Steve shared with Peggy. Bucky had been stock still, Sam trying to fill the silence as much as he could. The man was a force of nature when he wanted to be. Usually Bucky found it annoying, but he’d been grateful for it that night. They hadn’t seen each other since then, since Sam bid him farewell on the porch, making him promise to keep in touch. Bucky hadn’t kept that promise.
Sam looked good. They met in Louisiana. Bucky took the train down. Sam was driving a truck to pick him up, which made Bucky raise an eyebrow. Sam was leaning against the passenger seat, hands in his jean pockets. His lips quirked into a grin when he saw Bucky.
“I thought I’d never have to see your ugly face again,” he said, but there was no bite or malice to his words. He looked… happy to see Bucky.
There are people who like you, and want to help you.
His therapist’s words rang through his mind, and Bucky took a deep breath.
“Guess it's not your lucky day,” he quipped back. “In more ways than one.”
Sam huffed a laugh. “I guess not.”
Bucky could see that the situation was weighing on Sam heavily. There was a slump to the other man’s shoulders that he wasn’t used to seeing, a line between his eyebrows that was more pronounced than normal. Sam’s tells were subtle, but Bucky was a supersoldier, an elite assassin trained in the art of espionage.
Plus he was always just kind of observant.
“So fill me in,” he said, elbowing Sam to get to the passenger seat of the vehicle. Sam let him, and climbed into the driver’s seat.
Bucky was surprised by how easy it was to fall back into their normal patterns after the time apart. Sam didn’t treat him any differently from usual, his voice filling the car with his usual smart remarks and playful insults. A grin danced across his lips as he did, eyes glancing to meet Bucky’s at different intervals.
Bucky felt normal, too. Sam laughed at his sarcastic attitude, giving back as good as he got. And somehow, even though all the bickering and bantering, they managed to communicate the gravity of the situation by the time they reached their destination.
“So we got a plan?” Bucky asked, swinging himself out of the truck as they came to a stop.
“That’s what you’re here for, tin man,” Sam said, joining him. They were outside an old house, painted white and surrounded by trees. Bucky was a city boy at heart, but there was something about this place that seemed to sooth his soul.
Before he could say anything, the door opened, and a woman stepped out. She looked like Sam, with the same arch of her eyebrow as she looked him over.
“You must be the tin man,” she said, extending her hand. Bucky grinned in spite of himself.
“Glad to know that nickname is spreading,” he said, shooting Sam a look. “Sam’s sister?”
“Sarah,” she confirmed, flashing her white teeth at him. Sam was looking back and forth between the two of them, frowning.
“All right, this was a mistake. You’re getting back on the train,” he said, grabbing Bucky’s shoulder and pulling him away. Sarah let out a loud laugh.
“Nope, just for that reaction, he’s at least staying for dinner. Come on in,” she said. Sam was clearly powerless to resist his sister.
It wasn’t until after Sam’s hands were gone that Bucky realized he hadn’t flinched away from them.
***
Bucky fit into Sam’s home, into his family, like a missing puzzle piece. Sarah was an incredible woman, strong and caring, and she made him feel at ease from the second he stepped into the door. She reminded him of his own sister, in some ways, and though it set off the familiar pang in his chest that came whenever he thought of his family, he liked it.
Sam's nephews were loud. He’d been accosted by them when he walked in, bombarded with questions and inquisitive looks. But it wasn’t the inquisitive looks of an adult- just the bright curiosity of a kid. Bucky avoided kids, for the most part. People around him seemed to come to harm, and he couldn’t bear it if he somehow hurt a kid. He was beginning to rethink his avoiding kids stance. The bright smiles and laughter that he got from Sam’s nephews, even from the smallest of answers, made him grin in return.
“How strong is your arm?” the younger one demanded. He knew they had told him their names, but that had overlapped with all their other questions. He could puzzle it out later.
Bucky shrugged. “A lot.”
“Can it lift us?”
Bucky snorted. “Yeah, kid. I could lift you.”
“Both of us,” the older one chimed in, eyes fixed on his arm.
“Both of you,” Bucky confirmed.
“Prove it then!” they said in unison. Bucky let out a long, world weary sigh that wasn’t fooling anyone.
“Fine, fine.” He pulled off his jacket. He was wearing a t-shirt underneath, and was already sweating in the Louisiana heat. The jacket was more of a habit than anything, a way to cover his arm when he was on the train. But here he didn’t have to cover up, and he knew the kids would want to see it.
He was right in that. The boys swarmed over, grabbing his arm.
“Ok, you ready?” Bucky asked. They shouted in agreement, and Bucky lifted them up. He acted like it was a bit of a strain. He remembered from the limited experience he had with kids that they liked exaggerated reactions. They whooped as they were lifted off the ground, and he held them, hanging from his arm, for a few moments. He acted like he was going to drop them, and they let out twin shrieks.
“All right, you guys are gonna break it,” Bucky said, setting them down. Sam was standing a ways away, a strange expression on his face. Not a bad one, but one that Bucky couldn’t read.
“All right, you monsters, say thanks,” Sam said, stepping in to usher his nephews away.
“Sorry about them,” Sarah said, though she wasn’t really apologetic. “They get excited about the superhero stuff.”
“I don’t mind,” Bucky said truthfully. “They’re fun.”
“You… like kids?” Sam said slowly, a bemused expression on his face.
“Those kids, at least,” Bucky said. “I don’t really know any others.”
Sam snorted, but that strange expression hadn’t left his face.
***
Bucky insisted on cleaning up after dinner. Sarah and Sam wouldn’t let him help cook, instead having him entertain the kids. Bucky kept seeing Sam watching him from the corner of his eye. Usually that surveillance would have made him feel uncomfortable, but from Sam he wasn’t worried. Dinner was incredible. Bucky hadn’t had a home cooked meal in a while.
Sarah was putting the kids to bed, and then going to bed herself. Bucky wasn’t sure where Sam was. He was coming down a bit, from the high of being around a family again. The ache of missing his own was present all night, and now that he was alone again, it only intensified.
He heard footsteps behind him.
“Want some help?” Sam’s voice sounded behind him. Bucky turned his head slightly, taking in Sam’s silhouette.
“I got it. You cooked.”
“All right. You want some company, then?”
Bucky shrugged. “I wouldn’t say no.”
Sam moved more into his line of sight, leaning on the counter. His gaze roamed over Bucky slowly, and Bucky had to suppress a shiver.
“You doing ok? I know my family can be a lot,” Sam said.
There are people who like you, and want to help you.
With those words in his mind, Bucky tried to open up.
“I like them,” he said truthfully. “Sarah reminds me a bit of one of my sisters. And the kids are great.”
Sam’s smile was small, but genuine. “They’re great kids. I missed a lot of them growing up, with the Blip. I’m..”
“Making up for lost time,” Bucky finished, scrubbing at a dish. Sam nodded.
“Exactly.”
A comfortable silence stretched between them. Bucky broke it unexpectedly.
“They weren’t freaked out by the arm,” he said, eyes trained in the sink. Sam shifted slightly.
“The kids?”
“Yeah. They were just interested in it. It was something… good.”
He could see Sam’s teeth flash as he grinned. “They fuckin love you, you know. After that stunt. You’ve dug yourself into a hole with that one. You’re gonna have to do that every day you’re here.”
Bucky’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “I don’t mind. It’s nice. That I can… I don’t know. Make someone happy. With something that I think of as bad.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
Sam moved then, stepping closer to Bucky. The supersoldier’s eyes flicked up to meet Sam’s.
“You can talk to me, man. About whatever. Whenever.”
Sam’s voice was low, sincere, and the sound of it settled into Bucky’s chest, making a home there.
“Thank you,” he said, equally low, equally sincere.
There was only an inch of space between their bodies, and Bucky found himself itching to close the gap, to reach out his hand and touch Sam. Then Sam stepped back, and the moment was gone.
“Man, you really have been going to therapy, huh?” Sam joked, and they were back to their normal routine.
But laying in bed that night, all that Bucky could think about was Sam’s hands on him, the desire to touch him, feel his skin. And he realized that he’d never felt like that with any of his dates.
Oh.
***
It was only a matter of time before the nightmares came. Bucky was a restless sleeper, plagued by the visions of his past. He didn’t have one for five days when he was with Sam’s family. That was a new record. He attributed it to the kids. He tried not to attribute it to Sam’s grounding presence.
The streak of sleep was broken at 3:00 am on a Tuesday. Bucky sat bolt upright in bed, sweating, hands shaking. He tried to calm his breathing, using one of the methods that his therapist taught him. It worked enough to get himself back under control, but there was nothing he could do about the guilt and anxious energy wracking his body.
The dream was one that he had before. One of his many, many missions, with an innocent caught in the crossfire. He didn’t even remember the man’s name. He remembered every person, like he told Tony, but sometimes his mind blocked details from him.
Bucky couldn’t sit still. He got up out of bed, throwing on a shirt over his bare chest, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t sure where to go- this was Sam’s house, not his. So he left the house entirely.
The Louisiana night was nearly as warm as the day, with only a slight breeze to cool things. The moon hung heavy in the sky, and Bucky took deep breaths, taking in the night air. He stood silently on the porch, shoulders raising and falling, listening to the sound of rustling leaves.
The silence was broken by the sound of a door creaking open behind him, and footsteps sounded behind him. Sam came to his side, leaving some space in between the two of them.
Sam didn’t speak. He just sat down on the step next to Bucky, leaning back on his hands, looking up at the sky. Bucky slowly sat down too, feeling the wood creak beneath him. The movement took him closer to Sam, brushing their knees together. Bucky felt a shock run through him.
“I’m all right, you know,” he said quietly, not looking directly at Sam.
“I know.”
“It was just a nightmare.”
“I know,” Sam said again.
“You didn’t have to wake up.”
“I was already awake,” Sam said simply. “If you want to be alone you can say that, you know. Just thought you might want another person around.”
“You can stay,” Bucky said, a little too quickly. He saw a grin on Sam’s face.
“Shut up.”
Sam held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You talk with your face, you know that,” Bucky replied.
“I’m an expressive man,” Sam said, words rolling off his tongue.
There was another moment of silence.
“If you want to talk about it, I’m here,” Sam said. Bucky swallowed hard, feeling a blockage in his throat.
“I doubt you want to hear it.”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t.”
“I mean it, Sam. It’s not a pretty scene.” To his annoyance, Bucky felt the hot sting of tears behind his eyes. What was it about Sam that did this to him? That cracked him open like a… like a walnut, or something. His head was all jumbled.
“I never thought it was. I’d still hear it if you wanted to talk.”
Bucky’s breath picked up, coming in short bursts. Sam noticed, of course he did. Sam noticed everything, with those eyes. Bucky felt Sam’s hand on his back, warm and strong.
“Deep breaths, man,” Sam said. His voice was low and soothing, and his touch steadied Bucky, grounding him back to the time and place he was currently in. They stayed like that for some time, Bucky trying to calm his breathing, Sam waiting patiently.
Sam started talking. He kept his hand where it was.
“I get them too, you know. The nightmares. Sometimes it's about my service, sometimes it's about Riley. Sometimes it's about being in prison. Sometimes it's about someone coming after my family. And sometimes it's about turning into dust.”
Bucky’s breathing started to calm as he looked up at Sam. Sam was looking out into the night, the light from the kitchen window illuminating his skin. His face was hard, jaw clenched, but his breathing was smooth and calm. Years of practice, Bucky thought. Years of practice of calming himself down, making himself available for other people. When was the last time Sam had someone there for him?
“Did you have one tonight?” he asked, voice strained.
Sam nodded. “Yeah. It was, uh, it was an Afghanistan one. Mission gone wrong. Civilians died. I could have prevented it, but I didn’t. I still remember their faces.”
Without thinking, Bucky put his hand on Sam’s knee. He didn’t miss the way Sam’s eyes flickered down to it, or the way his breath caught in his chest.
“I remember them too,” he said. “All of them. Every face. Not always the names, I didn’t always know the names, but I always remember the faces.”
“Was that yours, tonight?” Sam asked, redirecting the conversation. Bucky just gave a nod.
“War, or Hydra?” Sam asked. Bucky blinked. No one had ever asked him that before. For some reason, his service before becoming the Winter Soldier, often went by the wayside. But apparently nothing went by the wayside for Sam.
“Hydra,” he said slowly. Then the words were tumbling out of his mouth, describing the mission, the deaths, and the death of the man caught in the crossfire. He didn’t realize he was shaking until Sam moved his hand from his back and grabbed Bucky’s hand instead. Bucky grasped back desperately.
He kept glancing at Sam, throughout the story. He expected to see Sam flinch. He knew Sam had seen him as the Winter Soldier before, seen him in action, knew what he’d done, but his mind still pictured Sam pulling away from him, face a mask of horror and revulsion.
But Sam never faltered. Sam’s eyes never moved from his face, dark gaze taking him in during every word, hand laced with Bucky’s. He felt open, and vulnerable, and every part of him wanted to run away, vanish again. But when Sam squeezed his hand, running away felt impossible. He was caught there, caught in Sam’s gaze, and moving away was the last thing on his mind.
“People say it wasn’t me,” Bucky said as he finished the story. “They say it wasn’t me, that it was the brainwashing, and I know that’s right, but it was me. It was my body that did those things, my hands that pulled the trigger or wielded the knife. I can’t separate myself from those actions.”
“I get that,” Sam said. “Even if your mind wasn’t there, you still remember it all. But you weren’t in control of yourself, Bucky. You can't blame yourself.”
“I do blame myself.”
“I don’t.”
Those two words hung in the air, and Bucky’s head snapped up, eyes wide, meeting Sam’s gaze head on.
“What?”
“I don’t blame you. That might not mean anything, but I want you to know that. I know how easy it is to get stuck in that cycle, that self loathing. But I don't blame you for anything you did when Hydra had you. You did those things. But you aren’t responsible for them.”
“It does,” Bucky blurted out. Sam raised an eyebrow.
“It does mean something,” Bucky clarified, still staring, struck, into Sam’s eyes.
It meant everything, even if Sam didn’t know that. Acceptance.
The tears that Bucky shed later that night, alone, were good ones. Cleansing ones.
***
For the next few days, Bucky and Sam fell back into their usual routines, but Bucky felt lighter than he ever had. Sam’s acceptance, plus the influence of Sam’s family, made Bucky feel the most comfortable he had in a long, long time, even despite the stress of the situation with the shield.
He couldn’t take his eyes off of Sam. His gaze followed the other man wherever he went, lingering on his form. Sam touched him now, more than he used to. It was casual touches, a clap on the shoulder, a hand on his back, a nudge in the side, but Bucky’s breath caught in his throat every time it happened.
Something was changed in their relationship. There was a tension, an underlying note, that hadn’t been there before. It felt like Sam was slowly settling into his chest, making his home in Bucky’s heart, and it was overwhelming.
Bucky was also coming to terms with just how attractive Sam was. He knew Sam was a handsome man, he knew it from the moment they met. But in the time he’d known Sam, he hadn’t been in a place where he could be attracted to anyone. But now he’d started dating, he’d opened that door, and when it came to Sam, he couldn't close it. Sam’s smile lit up a room. The look on his face when he joked with his nephews made Bucky weak in the knees. His look of concentration when they were figuring out the situation made Bucky dive into some wildly inappropriate fantasies.
And his arms. Oh god, his arms. Bucky caught himself staring at Sam’s arms more often than he liked to admit.
Over the next week, the tension became overwhelming. It reached a breaking point one evening, after Sarah and the kids had gone to bed. Bucky was in the kitchen, getting a glass of water, when Sam came in from outside. He was wearing shorts and a tank top, and a light sheen of sweat shone on his skin. Bucky’s mouth went dry. Sam had been working out. Their eyes met, and Bucky held out his glass of water. Sam raised an eyebrow, but took it, chugging it.
“Thanks,” he said. Bucky just nodded.
There was a long moment, then Bucky’s body moved of its own accord. It was like a rubber band had snapped, and Bucky couldn’t stand to be apart from Sam for even one moment longer. Sam’s eyes widened as he approached, but a grin was playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Tell me to stop,” Bucky said in a low voice, nearly a growl. Sam’s smile turned into a full blown grin.
“No chance,” he said, and his voice sent shivers down Bucky’s spine. In a flash, Bucky captured Sam’s lips in his own, a low groan escaping him. The kiss started slowly, but then Sam’s hands came up to grasp Bucky’s hair, and Sam took control of the kiss.
Something warm settled in Bucky’s chest, a glow of contentment and excitement that he hadn’t thought he could still feel. Of course, it was Sam, it was only Sam who could have awoken that part of him.
They broke apart, panting, and Sam rested his forehead against Bucky’s.
“Thank fuck,” he said with a chuckle. “I thought you’d never break.”
Bucky let out a laugh, a real one, light hearted and happy. “Was this some kind of test, Wilson?”
“Maybe,” Sam said, grinning. Then his face turned serious.
“I like you a lot, Bucky. I have for a while. But I didn’t want to make a move until I knew you were comfortable.”
Bucky’s heart swelled. He leaned in again. This time the kiss was more gentle, full of meaning, and longing, and promise.
“Well, consider me comfortable,” he whispered against Sam’s lips. And with Sam’s smile, he felt whole again.