The Avengers had moved upstate when the nightmares started again.
Sam’s room was across the hall from Steve’s and Bucky’s, who, despite spending most of their nights in one room, had been assigned one each. Sam was the first one to admit that it was an example about how much Tony actually cared and worried for all of them. He knew first-hand what trauma could do to a person, even if all of them could only fathom the battle Bucky was fighting. Because an own room meant an option of retreat, when things got too overwhelming, a safe space that was his, only his, that no-one could invade. Everyone learned in a heartbeat not to knock on Bucky’s door, save an emergency of the world-ending extent.
All in all, Sam was astonished by Bucky’s recovery, by the way he held himself up high even on the worse days, biting through them with nothing but his stubbornness, too proud to give up. Had anyone told Sam Wilson that a team of elite soldiers, spies, and enhanced individuals would profit from having a brainwashed assassin in their midst, he would have laughed. Maybe he would have sat down with said person and offered them therapy. And yet, here he stood, watching as his co-workers, colleagues, friends, learned from the effort Bucky put in his recovery. He had started talking back at the tower, and by now, he had integrated into their social life more or less effortlessly, laughing and joking and competing with Tony in his sarcastic and witty remarks. If someone were to be invited, told there was one brainwashed super soldier among them, he doubted they would pick Bucky. Natasha, maybe, or Clint, hell, even Wanda or Pietro, still not completely familiar with the group. The only thing about Bucky that stood out at first glance was the metal prothese in the place where his left arm had once been located. His friends had long got accustomed to it. For them, Bucky seemed no different to everybody else.
Then again, Sam doubted a lot of them were aware of what happened at night, behind locked doors and practically soundproof walls.
At first, they came scarcely. With Bucky’s world falling a little more into place every day, he felt safer not just as long as the sun was out, but also at night. There was nothing unusual about occasional nightmares, they all experienced them. Their line of work hardly permitted anything else. Of course, Bucky’s outbursts were more violent, screams he could hear even through sound-proof rooms. Still, given his situation, Sam considered this progress. He would have been more worried, had Bucky not experienced any bad dreams at all. So, for the best part of six months, he suspected absolutely nothing wrong.
He started to notice them more pronounced when he went from hearing Bucky’s screams every fortnight to every week, and from every week to every few days. He also noticed them shift place. Where, at first, the sound came from directly opposite him -Steve’s room- they sounded more and more from further back the corridor -Bucky’s own room.
---
Not only was Sam a light sleeper, he also was rather a night owl himself. He routinely stayed up until the later part of the night. It gave him time to think, to sort through his thoughts and to unwind from the rollercoaster ride that was their lives. They were trying to make ends meet as good as possible, helping Wanda and Pietro settle in, getting used to Vision’s rather unique way of being, occasional visits from Asgardian or Wakandan royalty, the usual fight against evil. Sometimes, Sam wondered when exactly his life had evolved from counselling veterans to getting back into business with a group of people who, without exception, were able to overpower and kill him at any given moment. So, maybe Sam Wilson was a little insane. He would have never admitted it, always priding himself on being reasonable and rational, but really, maybe he was a little reckless, a little out of his mind. Only a little. He had worn this very suit in his army days, after all, albeit with another pilot by his side, it really wasn't the biggest difference-
Sam was pulled out of his train of thoughts by a noise down the hall, a noise he had become all too familiar with- Bucky’s nightmares. The fact that he seemed to be alone, in his own room instead of Steve’s, worried him only the slightest bit. He had sought more privacy, these past days, and it was okay, that was the whole point of having a safe room. Merely the thought that Steve wasn’t there for comfort troubled Sam, less because he was scared than because he was compassionate with Bucky. He couldn’t make out clear words that he was shouting, only muffled sounds reached him. In his head, he was debating on whether to help or to stay in his own room, not yet having reached a conclusion when the sounds stopped. He had either woken up or fallen back asleep, either of them was no problem.
Sam leaned back onto his headrest, picking up a pen and starting to write letters sent to no-one. They helped him sort the chaos, clear his head, put the pieces into perspective. It had happened a few times that he had forgiven something someone had done after writing it into a letter, recognizing how petty or stupid it sounded. It wasn't like there was a whole lot to do, either. Sure, he could’ve gone to the shared area, their big group living room. He was fairly certain Tony was still working on whatever he was working on. But Sam liked the quiet and the peace, and so he just stayed right where he was, breathing in the calm he was being surrounded by. A calm that was broken as sounds urged their way into his room.
Sam sat up straighter, alarmed. Bucky rarely had a nightmare two consecutive nights, and he sure as hell hadn’t had more than one per night. That, the analytical part of his brain supplied faster than he wanted it to, wasn’t a good sign. Silently, he got up, opening his door only to find Steve already one step ahead. He stopped in his doorframe, but he didn’t bring it over himself to just close it behind himself again so as to be oblivious of whatever was unfolding right next to him.
He heard Steve’s knuckles producing a knock on Bucky’s door loud and clear, but Bucky didn’t seem to react, his strained voice not fading or calming. Another knock, then Steve’s sleep-filled voice calling out softly: “Bucky? Is everything alright?” Still, it didn’t seem to reach the other side of the door. For a moment, Steve was silent, and Sam noticed how the screams seemed to have turned into equally violent sobs. He wanted to hurry to his door, but Steve was already there, and in the end, there wasn’t much either of them could have done. As long as Bucky wasn’t opening the door, they had to let him be.
“Buck, are you okay?” Sam couldn’t see what was going on, but the sentiment in Steve’s voice was enough to burst his heart along with the words. More moments of silence on Steve’s part passed before the noise died down. Sam couldn’t help but hope that Bucky would open the door eventually, letting the so direly needed comfort in. “Please, it’s okay, let me in.” He registered Steve’s words as another attempt to get Bucky to the door. It took him a moment to realize that he was already talking to him, he could simply not hear the other side of the conversation. “It’s not, please. Just let me be there.” Silence. “No, you aren’t. Come on. Open the door.”
After that, Steve’s protest died down. He looked small as he walked down the hallway into his own room, with his head hung low and his shoulders hunched. Sam wanted to say something, but he failed at finding the right words. There unfortunately wasn’t anything he could say to change this situation, so he just turned and closed the door shut behind him.
Sam swore that he heard Steve’s heart rip in half as his door fell shut.
----
When Sam entered the kitchen the next morning, Bucky was long there. A rather unusual sight, he was usually one of the last people to show their face around the others. Nevertheless, there he sat, on one of the armchairs facing the kitchen. He was sitting straight, so much straighter than had to be comfortable in Stark’s armchairs. His eyes were scanning the room, flying from one spot to another. He didn’t look rested- then again, Sam didn’t expect him to look rested after the night he must have had.
Despite his careful scanning of the room, Bucky seemed to look right through him, as if he were glass. It gave Sam the chills-there was something so uniquely Winter Soldier in his face, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but neither deny it was there . Sam couldn’t imagine what was going on in his head- it didn’t take a genius to see that he wasn’t doing too well, but it was hard to determine which direction his mood was taking. When Sam thought back to the earlier days, from numbness to screams to disappearing without a word, there had been almost everything. There wasn’t much of a chance to start a conversation; if Bucky wanted to talk, he would approach someone himself. So Sam just went to grab a coffee, without more than a simple “hey” and a nod in Bucky’s direction.
It stayed quiet for a long time after he entered the kitchen. The only people who searched refuge -or coffee, but really, was there a difference?- were the twins. They were still fairly new to the group, and the effort they put into settling in was astounding. Not only did they enter a new group of people, they also entered a new culture and language. And powers that they still were getting used to.
In a grotesque way, Sam thought, the twins and Bucky helped each other to settle. It took stress off of Bucky to see that others needed time adjusting, too, that they all struggled. And for the twins, it was nice to have someone to relate their struggles to, someone who understood, to an extent, what they were going through. And it was nice for them to have someone who could understand and speak their language, when english failed.
Sam stayed for a while. There wasn’t much for them to do, there wasn’t much to train, with half of the team absent. So he scrolled through social media for a while, checked his emails, texted his mother. He found himself absently watching the twins- the way they acted around each other was so raw, the atmosphere around these two different than anything he had ever experienced. It made sense, he thought, the two of them had been together every day for all of their lives, even before they were born. They knew each other like themselves, maybe better. It brought peace to the compound, their bond. Sam couldn’t have been more grateful.
When the sun finally decided to stop hiding behind its cover of dark clouds, Sam decided that he had sat around lost in thought inside the kitchen long enough. He gave Bucky, who had barely moved at all, another quick look. He still looked like a deer in headlights, and Sam wished that he could do something, but there was nothing in his power. Whatever had happened, if anything had happened at all, wasn’t Sam’s business- so he didn't pry. Instead, he grabbed an apple and made his way outside to catch some sunshine, who knew, maybe he’d even meet someone outside. He sure enough hadn’t seen a lot of people today. Now, he didn’t necessarily need to hang around a big crowd all the time, but he didn't mind exchanging a few words with someone who didn’t seem to look through him like glass.
The fresh breeze was a nice change to the sun-heated kitchen. It prickled on his skin and cooled down his system, and he closed his eyes for a moment to indulge in the feeling. He began wandering around soon enough, looking around at the mix of green and concrete that had become his life. It was funny, he thought, Sam from 6 years back would have laughed him in the face if he would have told him. Riley would have done the same, probably. Or maybe he would’ve just told him “bet” and joined right with him. Both options seemed rather legitimate.
It still sounded crazy in his ears that he actually chose this life. It was the furthest from calm- what he originally had planned- he could get, and yet he didn’t want to miss a day of it. It was strangely addictive, he realized. As were the people. Sam couldn’t imagine not being within a 100 feet range from at least one of them. It was comforting. It was a big, strange, complicated family. A bunch of idiots who had found each other.
How they hadn’t killed each other yet would probably remain a mystery to him forever.
Speaking of killing each other.
Sam spotted a shock of blonde hair, sitting under one of the trees to the far left of the complex. It wasn’t too hard to guess who it was- the team didn’t dispose of a great variety of six foot tall, blonde, white men. It took Sam a moment to figure out what to do; he didn’t want to pry, but his experience with Steve had shown him that when he was brooding, he actually direly needed to talk.
He could try.
“Hey, Steve!”
“Steve!”
He stopped for a moment, considering turning around. Maybe he was asleep. Maybe he just really didn’t want to talk. Sam gave it one more try anyways.
“Steve?”
Sam could practically see how Steve woke up from his daydream, he startled, blinking a few times and then turned around to look at Sam. it took him all his strength not to start laughing at Steve’s expression; he looked like a confused puppy.
“Oh, hi Sam!”
“Are you okay, man?
Steve shifted a little in the grass, turning his body just the slightest bit away from Sam. (Retreat, hide, distance.) Then he nodded, smiling.
“Oh, I’m good. Why?”
“I don’t know, you look a little lost.” Sam grinned a little, trying to loosen the atmosphere. Steve was tenser than he would’ve liked Sam to know.
“No, don’t worry, I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“I am. Thank you, Sam.”
“Nothing to thank me for.” He looked at him directly, smiling. “You know, if you ever need to talk…”
Steve nodded and laughed a little. “I can always come to you. I know. Appreciate it.”
Sam nodded, gestured around at nothing in particular and laughed quietly. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
Steve nodded, and he was already falling back into his thoughts when Sam turned around, frowning, and continued his little tour around the estate.
So Steve didn’t want to talk. Fair enough, maybe he himself didn’t even know what was happening yet. Maybe he needed time to figure it out. Things like that were always easier to figure out from the outside- and Steve was standing right in its centre. So was Bucky, but Sam suspected that he, spaced out and distant from the world as he seemed that morning, was acutely aware of what was happening- if that was a good thing or a bad thing, Sam didn’t dare to evaluate.
**
When Sam stepped back into the kitchen to gain himself another cup of every Avenger’s life fuel, coffee, he found the armchair was empty. He hoped, not exclusively for selfless reasons, that this meant Bucky had woken from his trance-like state. The Asset scared Sam witless to this day.
Walking up to the coffee machine, he let his thoughts wander to easier topics. He should really catch up on that show he used to watch. He wondered if it had a new season yet, he hadn’t watched in ages. He’d have to look it up.
He had just finished pouring in his coffee when a voice from behind made him jump- or, almost jump, he had precious coffee that he was not going to spill all over the kitchen.
“Do you have a minute?”
Bucky’s voice was raw, he sounded like he hadn't spoken in ages. Thinking back to the night before, however, Sam thought that screaming from the top of his lungs would have the same effect on his voice, it wasn’t raw, it was strained.
Bucky looked awake now, Sam observed, and it relieved him a little. On the other hand, now that the stoic expression had gone from his face, Sam could see the emotion in his face. He looked exhausted to no end, like he hadn’t slept in days, nay, weeks. (He knew that Bucky slept, but he doubted that his sleep gained him much rest.) He looked haunted, too. That one was almost usual, and as much as Sam hated it, he had gotten used to that expression in Bucky’s too-young-yet-too-old face. His brows were furrowed, he looked pained. But not like he was in physical pain, more like something was eating at him, chewing away his very self ever-so-slightly. And he looked miserable, for lack of a better word. He looked terrible, he looked despaired, he looked vulnerable. It was with that very word that Sam realized he had been right to think that Bucky knew very well what was happening not only to him, but to his relationship with Steve, too.
That Bucky was so desperate he had come to him for comfort now showed him that it wasn’t a good thing.
Sam collected his thoughts. “Of course. What’s wrong?”
Bucky shook his head, and he looked so goddamn broken. Sam’s heart ached deep down in his chest. “Not here.” He whispered, looking around at the doors like a deer in headlights. It made sense, Sam figured. Bucky never wanted to be vulnerable in any way. If he made himself vulnerable to Sam emotionally, he at least made sure he wasn’t vulnerable spatially as well.
And so he turned around and walked to his room. Sam didn’t remember ever having seen it from the inside. This, as bad as it sounded, was an honour. Even more important than that, this was progress. Bucky started trusting in people that weren’t Steve, this was huge. Sam only wished he could be happier about it, that the circumstances were different. Like this, it just felt heavy.
Sam followed him without saying a word.
The room was colder than Sam had imagined. It wasn’t literally cold, of course, it was maybe 5 metres away from his own, but it seemed cold. Not cozy, not homely. It looked sporadic and overly clean, everything was in place perfectly. It didn’t make sense to Sam. He had imagined a safe space, a little messy, lived in, warm, fuzzy, something that made you feel at ease. This room was straight out of a catalogue. It made Sam feel exposed.
Yet, Bucky relaxed. As soon as the door closed behind them, his shoulders fell a little lower, he took a deep breath, and his hands opened from being clenched to fists. It was strange. Then again, Bucky was a little different in a lot of ways. None that you would see at first glance, but they were there. He waited a second before opening a door, a habit of listening for some noise that wasn’t supposed to be there. He sat in corners to be able to see the whole room. He couldn’t stand the cold, using hot water bottles and heaters and layers and everything else to keep him warm. He always had a weapon on him, and if he didn’t, he found something he could use as such. He hated confined spaces- if the room was small or dark, speak, if Bucky couldn't see an immediate way out, he didn’t enter. And apparently, he kept everything 100% clean and tidy all the time.
If it helped him cope, Sam wasn’t going to judge.
Bucky sat down on the ground and pulled his knees to his chest, a position so childlike, so contradictory and estranged to the big, enhanced soldier with the metal arm, it almost made Sam smile. Comfort was a strange thing. The unconscious relied on the easiest things you did as a child, and still brought you a little peace through them decades later.
The way he sat down in the middle of the flat on the floor made Sam wonder if the neatness in the room was due to excessive tidying or never touching anything in the first place.
Sam sat down cross legged.
“It’s getting worse again.”
Bucky’s words came sudden, surprising Sam in his train of thoughts. He didn’t say anything, just looked at him, letting him know that he was listening, trying to understand and never, ever, judging.
“It’s my fault.”
There it was. Sam had feared that Bucky’s mood changed resulting from some inner conflict, and even though he didn’t know exactly what he was referring to, it certainly took a toll on him. If the nightmares were part of the result or the cause, Sam wasn't sure.
“What do you mean?”
It wasn’t that Sam didn’t want to tell Bucky that, whatever it was, it wasn’t his fault. But he knew that, in order to help him best, Sam needed to know what he was talking about. If he was talking about the nightmares, the stuff he had done for Hydra, the relationship between him and others- Steve, Nat, the twins, whoever- or something entirely different.
Bucky just waved his hands vaguely.
“Everything.”
Sam stayed quiet, closing his eyes for a second. This, he heard regularly. Patients were afraid to say what they feared, so they talked around it to avoid it. Facing your problems didn’t work like that. It was painful, and Sam wished there was another way, but if they sat here just vaguely talking around the problem, it would do both of them no good.
“What’s everything”
Buck’s eyes darted across the room anxiously, he avoided looking at Sam at all costs. Sam didn’t blame him.
“You know, I dream about them again.” Bucky said eventually, not really answering his question, but he opened up, so Sam would take it. He didn’t say a word, waiting for Bucky to continue. He would, eventually, he was sure.
“The… missions. I can’t stop thinking about them, I remember them all.” His voice faded and at the end, he was speaking so quietly, Sam had to lean closer to him to understand them, Bucky hiding the words from the world, from Sam, from himself. “And I’m scared that I’ll…. Become him again.”
“You won’t.” Sam knew it wasn’t the right thing to say, but he had to say something, something to try to take the burden of those few words off of Bucky.
He scoffed.
“You know that’s bullshit. You know what happened in Germany.”
Sam looked at him, and he looked so empty it made Sam’s stomach turn. It wasn’t fair, what they had done to him. Sam knew the stories Steve had told him about before the war, about James “Bucky” Barnes with the smug grin and the gleaming eyes. And while Steve tended to over-romanticize those he loved, Sam knew there was truth to his words, that, a lifetime ago, Bucky had been a much brighter version of the man sitting in front of him now.
He didn’t know what to say.
Bucky spoke again before he could figure out something, anything.
“Ten words, Sam. Ten fucking russian words, and I was him again. Sometimes I wake up and I just feel like him. I can’t control it. And I know you all say I’m welcome here, but all it needs is one of these goddamn nightmares and some specific memory, and I can’t hold him back, he’s still in there.” He tapped his forehead. There was nothing Sam could say. Because he wasn't wrong, they couldn’t be sure there wasn’t a memory in his head that would turn him, that would make him lose control. But he’d been getting better, hadn’t he?
Bucky pushed a hand through his hair, pulling at it. Sam hated to see him do it, hated to see him provoke pain to ease up. It was maybe the most painful experience of all, seeing someone you cared about being in this much pain. He didn’t know how Steve managed.
“I’m pushing him away, and I can’t stand it, but I couldn’t live with me if I ever lost control. If I ever…. Hurt him” Bucky’s eyes were now fixed on the hands in his lap, still avoiding Sam, who was trying so hard to remember that he was trained for this. Sam wasn’t trained for brainwashed super-assassins, though, and he was noticing it the hard way.
“Again.” Bucky added, and it was so quiet that Sam almost missed it. He didn’t know what to do, and all of a sudden he was so painfully aware of the life Bucky had led, had been forced to lead, and it made him want to punch a wall. This was a problem he had no solution to, a situation he saw no way out.
“You won’t.” He said, again, because what else could he say?
Bucky laughed, and it was the bitterest laugh Sam had ever heard. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could change to help the breaking kid in front of him that was slowly, slightly shaking with repressed sobs as his head was playing a game with him he was doomed to lose. It was then that Sam realized, for the first time, that in reality, Bucky was barely thirty, if you thought about it. Because despite his being woken up again and again for more than 70 years, the years he had actually spent in his head were so much fewer. The boy in front of him, now violently shaking with soundless sobs, lead a life of thirty years with seventy years worth of trauma, and fuck, the world was a injust place. Despite the sun outside, Sam was suddenly cold.
“We would never let that happen.”
Bucky looked at him then, out of foggy, empty, hopeless eyes.
“Promise.” Sam assured.
“No matter what it takes?”
“No matter what it takes.”
It was a lie, Sam knew before he said the words. They would never take Bucky’s life to save Steve’s, none of them would allow it, least of all Steve. But it was the only way to hold Bucky above water, and right now, that was all Sam needed to justify a lie, even one like that.
Bucky shut his eyes and cleared his throat, then looked at Sam. “Thank you.” His voice was hoarse, he sounded worn, and so much older than he should. Sam just nodded.
“Do you want me to leave you alone?”
His eyes darted away again, avoiding some form of expected disappointment when he nodded.
“That’s okay.” Sam scooped closer to him, leaving him plenty of time to reject the motion. He didn’t. Sam laid a hand on his human arm. “It’s gonna get better, I promise.”
Bucky shut his eyes, and Sam took it as his sign to leave, so he stood up and walked towards the door, stopping when he heard Bucky talking.
“Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Could you get Steve?”
“Of course.”
He slipped through the door and shut it quietly, whispering a curse as soon as he knew it was completely shut. It was less a single curse than it was a string of every possible curse he could find in his head, repeating the more prominent ones over and over. There was a pain settling in his chest, knowing Bucky was hurting and not being able to help any more than to get Steve. It was a step forward, he supposed, letting Steve back in, but he so desperately wished he could do more.
* *
Steve was still sitting on the same patch of grass Sam had found him before, dozing off a little, and he almost felt bad, waking him.
“Steve.”
“Hm?”
“Bucky’s asking for you.”
Steve was awake in a matter of split seconds, and on his feet almost as fast.
“Is he okay? Did something happen?”
The worry on his face mde Sam’s heart pang. It was a damn cruel world they were living in.
“Nothing happened. But I won’t lie to you and say he’s alright. We talked. He’s hurting. And he asked for you.”
It was like those words alone made Steve mirror Bucky’s pain. Worry washed over his face, but it was more, deeper, it was so deeply caring and so brutally pained. Sam hated it.
They walked to the rooms in odd silence, Sam could only guess Steve was preparing himself for all the worst scenarios in his head. He couldn’t blame him.
Bucky’s door wasn’t locked, so when no-one answered their knock, Sam opened the door to see Bucky still frozen in the same position he had left him in. He looked up at the sound of the door opening, and when he saw Steve, he lumped together even more. Steve didn’t wait for a signal, or a word, ushering past Sam into the room, taking Bucky into his arms, holding him like a scared kitten, pulling him into his lap and shielding him from the world with his body as Bucky started sobbing again.
Sam closed the door and missed Riley a little more.
His feet took him to the kitchen, in the hope he would find someone to take his mind off all the unpleasant things he was currently thinking about. He would have to face them, eventually, but not right now, not today.
Stepping into the kitchen, he noticed , much to his relief, that it was actually quite crowded. The twins were sharing an armchair, Wanda sitting in it, a bag of m&m’s in her lap, and Pietro, crouching on one of the armrests, stealing the blue ones because “come on, they’re obviously the best ones!”
“They all taste the same, Pietro.”
“If that helps you sleep at night.”
Sam smiled tiredly. It was moments like these, the two of them so comfortably quarreling, that made the facility feel like home. Thew nodded at him, smiling, as they noticed him, then continued arguing over the color-flavor relation of m&m’s. Nat was standing in the kitchen, a cup of tea clutched between her hands. She looked at him, smiling, and he knew she had read him in an instant.
“Are you okay?”
“I suppose, yeah.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not right now.”
He left it at that, and for a while, they just stood together, looking out of the glass that was the outer wall of the kitchen. It was nice, soothing, silent support. He and Nat had become close, and he thought that, were he to tell anyone about Riley, it would probably be her. Or Steve, but he had his hands full at the moment. On top of that, he hadn’t really talked about him at all, it just seemed easier not to address it.
“Bucky talked to me.” He said after a while, quiet enough so the others wouldn't hear him. Nat’s head turned in an instant.
“He’s not doing too great.”
“I noticed.”
“It’s unfair.”
She agreed silently.
“Is Steve with him?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
He nodded.
“Something you want to get off your chest?”
“Some day.”
Another nod.
“Okay.”
She knew better than to ask more questions, and Sam was grateful for it. One day, he told himself, he would tell her about him, but right now, there were more important things to worry about. Speaking of, he felt like he should check up on Bucky and Steve. They were both grown men, but Sam still felt responsible for them. Maybe not really responsible, but he worried.
The mother instinct in him wanted nothing more than to go to their door and knock. The rest of him knew it was probably not a good idea, so he didn’t. Instead, he looked back at the twins, still quarreling, and walked towards Wanda, only to steal one of her m&m’s, say “the red ones are the best.” , and make his way back to his room.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wanda throwing up her arms in faux exasperation.
He smiled.
**
Sam lost track of time, and when he heard the knocking on his door, he couldn’t say how much time had passed. It had become dark outside. He opened the door to see Steve standing in front of him. He looked worn, tired to the bone and somehow so much older than a few hours ago.
“Are you okay? Everything alright?”
Steve nodded, then rubbed one hand over his face. “Can I come in?”
Sam stepped away from the door. “Of course.”
Steve stepped into the room and let himself sink into the bed. Sam didn’t mind.
“He fell asleep. I didn’t want to leave him alone for the first hour or so, so I sat by his bed, but I needed to clear my head.”
Sam nodded. It was understandable, even in sessions, sometimes he needed some fresh air before he could step back into the room. With people he knew, it was even worse. He could only imagine it must have been similar for Steve. “Of course. You know you can always come here.”
He nodded again, then propped himself onto his arms. He yawned and turned to face Sam. “I think there’s something else going on with him, something he doesn't want to talk about, at least not with me.”
“What makes you think that?” Sam tried to stay relaxed, but his focus shifted entirely on Steve’s words again.
“I’m not entirely sure,” Steve confessed, shrugging his shoulders, “I just feel like sometimes when he talks he takes an extra second to skip something or to think how he could tell me something without mentioning something else. You know? More a feeling than anything else.”
Sam nodded, his thoughts brushing through the things that Hydra hadn’t done to Bucky. There wasn’t much he could come up with, and the things he did think of, he didn’t like, he wanted nothing more than to dismiss them, but he knew he couldn’t. With Bucky, with Hydra, nothing was too cruel.
“Do you have an idea what it could be?”
Steve shook his head. “I couldn’t say, and I don’t know if I can bear thinking about it.”
“Of course, don’t break yourself over it. There isn’t much that we can do, anyway. Bucky’s his own man, he doesn’t have to tell us anything, in theory.”
Steve nodded, but it was an unsatisfied nod.
“I’m sorry, man.” He flashed him a smile, a desperate attempt to make Steve feel a little better. Steve returned the smile, but it was tired.
“Get some sleep. I’ll check on Bucky, if you want to. “
Steve shook his head. “No, I promised not to leave. I’ll go back, get some sleep in his room. Thanks, Sam.”
“Always.”
When Steve shut the door, Sam let out a deep sigh. Rationally, he knew that recovery wasn’t a straight line, that there would always be ups and downs. Still, this felt like a big step backwards. He leaned back and closed his eyes, an attempt to get some peace, to remember an easier time. He would get some sleep, and he would stay clear. When Bucky needed help, he’d ask for it, Sam told himself as sleep wrapped its arms around him.
**
The morning greeted Sam with rain. The light was dimmed by the dark clouds and the rain, bathing everything in a gloomy feeling. Sam rolled his eyes at the weather, the least he deserved was a little bit of sun. Sam never really liked the rain. It had rained at Riley’s funeral. Ever since that day, he hated it. He stood up from the chair he had fallen asleep on, stretching his aching back. He had a bed for a reason, he remembered, and this was it. Laziness truly didn’t beat the back pain that sleeping in the armchair all night brought. He should remember that, next time. He stood up, went to the bathroom, showered, brushed his teeth and changed into fresh clothes, feeling a little better when he stepped out. The idea of coffee beat laziness and so he opened his door to walk toward the big kitchen. Sure, he could have made coffee in the little kitchen in his room, but the machine in the shared kitchen was better and he wasn’t in the mood for mediocre-at-best coffee. Both Steve’s and Bucky’s rooms were quiet, so he let them be. Bucky was recovering, he told himself, this was normal, this meant healing.
The kitchen was still deserted, and a look at the clock told Sam why: no one in this house woke up before nine, and the common areas were mostly deserted until half past nine. So it only made sense that, at barely eight in the morning, Sam would be the only one awake. With a few moves of his hands, one of the screens started playing a random episode of Parks and Recreation. Sam didn’t know which one it was, nor did he really care. It was a distraction, and it wasn’t half bad, so he let the people on screen talk while he sipped on cups of coffee. No matter how different everyone here was, they all had an unhealthy relationship to coffee, and no one cared enough to do something about it.
At nine, in the middle of the second episode of Parks and Recreation that morning, Rhodey stumbled into the kitchen, clearly still sleepy. He raised his hand in salute, and sat down next to Sam with a cup of coffee on his own. At his offer to start the episode anew, Rhodey just waved and mumbled “already seen it”. Rhodey was nice to be around, his presence was soothing. Often, Sam thought of him as their all father figure, and there certainly was some truth to it. Sitting next to him gave Sam a certain kind of safety, he couldn’t explain it, and he didn’t want to. It was good the way it was. As the credits rolled, he could feel him shift and get up, probably to get himself another cup of coffee.
“You alright?”
Sam needed a second to realise the words had been addressed to him. Of course they were, given that they were the only people present. “Yeah, I’m alright, tough day yesterday, that’s all.”
Rhodey looked at him skeptically, and Sam really couldn’t be mad at him. When Tony was your best friend, you kind of had to be skeptical about everything that was told to you. “Sure?”
Sam let out a breath.. “Yeah. I don’t wanna tell you more, I don’t wanna break anyone’s trust.”
He nodded. “Yeah, of course. You look rough, man.”
“Thank you.” Sam huffed out a laugh. It took tension off his chest.
Rhodey pressed play on the next episode, then waved Sam over. “Come on, everyone’s still sleeping and it’s not like there’s much else to do in this weather anyways.”
Sam didn’t decline.
**
It was almost eleven when Steve entered the kitchen, hair stuck in every direction, shirt wrinkled, dark bags under his eyes. Rhodey shot Sam a questioning look, but Sam just shook his head. It was better not to ask about it, for Steve, this felt like starting off again from zero. Deep down, Sam thought, Rhodey knew the answer anyhow. He scanned Steve with worried eyes, and when Steve went to the coffee machine without as much as a glance, his brows furrowed. Sam shook his head again, hoping Rhodey would get the message.
He did.
It didn’t take Steve long to disappear again, Sam could only think he’d come here for the same reason he had initially: the coffee was better. Or maybe his coffee was used up.
When he was sure Steve was gone, Rhodey looked at Sam, worry painting his face. “Is he alright? Is Bucky alright?”
Sam rubbed his eyes. “Could be better.”
Rhodey didn’t ask anything after that, just nodded and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder.
After the credits rolled, Sam got up and waved Rhodey goodbye. He wanted to be in his room, just in case. He wanted to be available. The next few days would probably be rather hard, the least he could do was help as best he could.
He opened his window to let the cool air get in, and took a deep breath. Talking to Rhodey, even though he hadn’t really said much, had lifted weight off his shoulders.
He took the time to clean up what was messy in the room, did all the things he normally just couldn’t bother to do. He sat down and responded to a text to his sister he had ignored the day before. In his defense, he had been pretty busy worrying about Bucky and Steve and everything else. They talked for a while, and it made him happy, there was no better person to be an idiot with than her. He looked through the appointments he had scheduled. It weren’t too many, since Sam didn’t really work there anymore. But he had insisted he still meet the appointments with his patients, be it only over a video call, and no one convinced him otherwise. It felt good to be able to help people out, he liked his job, and even though he always took a part of their pain with him, there was nothing better than seeing them get better- and they did. He hadn’t kept all of his old patients, but the ones who wanted and were comfortable with non-presential sessions.
It was afternoon when Sam heard the familiar sound of the faint knocks on his door, and this time as he opened, he stepped out of the way immediately, letting Steve in. He sat down on the armchair, and Sam sat down cross-legged onto the bed. Steve’s eyes looked irritated, like he had cried, but Sam didn’t point it out. Instead. He supported himself on his arms and leaned back, giving Steve some time. He didn’t try to talk, didn’t ask questions or broke the silence. If this was what Steve needed right now, then that was okay. Outside, the rain had started falling more violently.
“I was right.”
Sam’s eyes darted to where Steve was sitting, looking miserable. Sam couldn’t blame him.
“Something else happened. But he won’t- he can’t tell me. I don't know why, but he can’t seem to do it.”
Sam breathed in and out deeply. He had wished Steve’s gut was wrong even though he knew that, regarding Bucky, it’s error rate was astonishingly low.
“Give him time. He’ll tell you, sooner or later.” He said.
“Maybe he can’t tell you because he knows it would shatter you.” He didn’t say.
Sam had a strong feeling that both were true, but that it might take longer for Bucky to be able to talk about it than Steve wanted. It was an unbearable situation, for all of them, and it made Sam almost angry. They didn’t deserve this, none of them.
“How’s the situation?”
“He went to grab something to eat, he hasn’t eaten anything yet. I told him I’d ask if you wanna join us.”
“Should I?”
“If it’s not an inconvenience.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
They walked in silence.
**
Bucky looked lamentable and incredibly small in the big kitchen, hunched together on a chair. He was wearing a sweater at least three sizes too big and his metal hand was hidden in its pocket. His hood was up and the hair that peaked under it was messy. He was trying as best he could to make himself invisible, and he was sure that he would have overlooked him if he hadn’t known he was there. Sam softened his voice as best he could. “Hey Bucky.”
Bucky turned around, and his face looked even more wretched than his body did. He had forgotten that look on him, but he remembered a time when it was close to all he ever saw from him. He remembered that, in the beginning, he had looked just like that, big hoodie, hood up, dark shadows and fallen eyes, too often.
HIs eyes softened a little, but it just made him look more tired. “Hi Sam.” His voice was hoarse, and Sam didn’t know if it was from using it or from not using it. Neither seemed good.
He waited for Steve to take whatever seat he found best to take, and after Steve had sat down next to Bucky, Sam seated himself across from them.
On the table stood a plate of ramen, steaming and smelling so good that Sam himself got hungry (maybe he should eat, he hadn’t really eaten anything after breakfast). Bucky eyed the food skeptically- the thought of eating didn’t seem to entertain him greatly, and Sam couldn’t blame him, he probably felt like had bigger things to worry about than getting enough food, even though he, like Steve, needed a lot more food than an average human being.
This was a situation Sam didn't really know how to handle- it was foreign territory. He didn’t know why Bucky didn’t eat, what the reason behind it was. With a setback like this (temporary, Sam assured himself) it was possible he just didn’t feel like it. Hydra hadn’t let him eat, nor had they fed him. It still made Sam shudder, using such primitive terms for a full grown human being, one that had become a close friend. Still, it was the truth. The aliment he needed was given to him by injections- Sam supposed it was just another way to take his humanity away from him, so he wouldn't crack.
He remembered, though, in a flash of memory cooking to him suddenly that, after he had come home from Riley's funeral, his sister had sat down with him, after he hadn’t eaten for too long, to grieved for food, and eaten with him. Sam remembered it felt easier to eat when he saw her do the same.
So he tried.
“Do you want me to eat with you?”
His voice was low, quiet. “You don’t have to.”
Sam waved his words away. “I was going to eat something anyway, so it’s no bother for me. Oly if you want me to, of course.”
For a moment Bucky was silent, contemplating the offer. Then, eventually, he nodded as if shy.
And so Sam got up, searched the shelves for something and a few minutes later, he had a plate of ramen in front of him just the same.
He started eating first, gave Bucky a little time to convince himself. Then, he started eating too, slowly at first, then, as his body caught up to what it needed, faster. They ate in silence, no sound except for the clinking of cutlery touching the plates. Steve sat next to them, looking at Bucky and Sam with tired eyes, worrying on his lower lips, until the plates were empty.
“Thank you.” Bucky coaxed out as Steve put the plates away, a little hoarse still, but with the faintest of smiles on his lips.
Little steps, Sam thought.
**
The next days passed uneventfully. Sam waited for Rhodey for breakfast- as it turned out, he was probably one of the earliest birds and often had breakfast in his room so as not to disturb anyone. They usually sat in silence and watched an episode or two of whichever soap they wanted that morning. On Wednesday and Thursday, Sam saw his patients. It gave him a sense of security, this he knew, this he was good at. It also helped putting distance to the problem at hand that he had no solution for. After, he drove to the nearest city and spent an afternoon wandering, strolling through the streets filled with normal people. It was refreshing.
He got coffee or ice cream, strolled through a park, sat in a coffee shop and read a book, got lost in the simple, sweet, mundane things. It was relaxing, the kind of distraction Sam knew he loved and needed at the moment. It also gave him time by himself, to order his thoughts. They always came back to the compound eventually, though.
There was a creeping in his head about Bucky that he wished he could ignore, that he tried to ignore but that always came back. Something about what Steve had said, about there being something else. And there wasn’t much he could think of that Bucky couldn't tell. So his head provided only one thing, and with every passing moment he was more sure of it, with every passing second it made more sense.
Even in his mind, he didn’t want to actually say it.
It was going to be a hard conversation to be had, but it was an important one, too.
Sam didn’t want to push Bucky to talk about it. And he would wait, for some time, but it was getting to him, and it was getting to all of them. Rhodey was passively involved now, as well, ever since the two of them started their breakfast routine. Sometimes he would notice that Sam was tense, and he would promise he wouldn't tell a soul, if Sam wanted to talk. He had taken him up on it a couple of times. Not just about Bucky and Steve, but about anything and everything. The only thing that he had kept to himself to both Rhodey and Nat was Riley. He would talk about it eventually, he swore it to himself. Once this situation had passed, he would talk about it.
When he returned to the compound, it was already dark outside.
**
The avengers weren’t a big found family who had dinner and watched movies together. But sometimes, someone would start a movie and then someone else would come to and stay to watch, until a group had formed.
And so, when Sam stepped into the big common area, there were a few of his friends grouped on various sofas and armchairs, watching a movie Sam couldn’t make out. Nobody really paid attention to it. Wanda was sleeping on Pietro’s shoulder, who was half watching the movie, half scrolling through instagram. Nat was furiously typing something on her phone.And Bruce was… knitting, apparently. Of course. If it helped him relax.
Sam couldn’t evaluate who of them had started the movie, maybe someone had just turned the TV on and let whatever was playing play. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nicholas Cage crawl under some desk, and at least now he knew what movie it was. He shrugged. Alright, then. He hadn’t expected Steve or Bucky to be there, so seeing the kitchen light being reflected onto one of the walls seemed rather odd to him.
In the kitchen, in front of the Cabinets, was Bucky, softly chatting away with Rhodey. He looked… surprisingly well, in a much better state than he had been for the last days. A smile made its way onto his face, it felt good, seeing Bucky like that. He made his way towards the two men.
Rhodey lifted his hand in greeting, while Bucky looked at him seriously and said “Samuel.”
At that, Sam let out a laugh, rolling his eyes with obviously no heat behind it. Bucky was back.
There was still a lot to talk about, but this wasn’t some mechanical shielding mechanism or trauma on survival mode, this was Bucky Barnes as everyone had come to know and love him. It was as if someone had lifted a weight from Sam's shoulders.
Rhodey patted him on the shoulder, and with a swift motion he was gone, leaving Sam and Bucky alone in the kitchen. It created a bit of a weird atmosphere, clearly being left alone with a purpose. Nobody really knew how to start, and so Sam ended up getting himself a coke from the fridge, to keep himself occupied.
It didn’t seem like Bucky would be the one to start speaking.
“Steve good?” Sam asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. He did a decent job, he thought.
“Yeah, he’s catching up on some sleep.” Bucky’s voice sounded relaxed, not like he was uncomfortable speaking. He sounded like himself again, Sam couldn’t help but notice it.
“And you?”
Bucky sighed, then shrugged his shoulders. “I’m alright, I guess. Better than the last days, definitely.”
“That’s good.” Sam smiled at him, and Bucky reciprocated the action.
There were a few moments of silence, it seemed like Bucky was debating whether or not to say what words lay on the top of his tongue. Eventually, he decided to do so.
“I do think I would like to talk about it, though.”
Sam nodded, and it was like someone had lifted a second weight from his shoulders. In hindsight, he would often remember this moment and admire the strength Bucky had in him (not that he would ever tell him that).
“Now?”
“If you don’t mind.” Bucky shrugged again. Sam could see that he was nervous, now. The slight shaking of the tips of his fingers. The ever so slightly softened voice. The way he held his body just the slightest bit curled inward. Bucky was himself, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t terrified.
**
Bucky sat himself down cross legged on the floor of Sam’s room. Sam didn’t question it.
There was another period of awkward silence, even though Sam didn’t find it as unnerving as the one a few minutes ago. Bucky needed to collect himself, maybe try out a few ways to say it, and Sam would sit there and wait until he had figured it out. There was no rush, and if he needed to sit here on his floor for another three hours in silence, then so be it.
Bucky took a deep breath and sat up a little straighter. This, Sam figured, was his starting signal.
“Steve can’t know. Not yet. I haven’t figured out how to tell him, I need to find a way to do it without shattering him. Swear to me that you will not tell him.”
Sam nodded, the words confirming only what he had already suspected. “Privacy policy.”
Bucky smiled, then nodded, then straightened up again.
“I don’t know when it was exactly, the last couple of days blur together in my mind. I couldn’t tell you how long I've been like this. It’s the same every time this part takes over, it’s like I run on auto-mode. Anyways, I’m getting off track.
“I was reading an article in the newspapers. Probably a bad idea, please remind me not to do that before checking next time.”
Sam wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, so he smiled and nodded, signaling him to go on.
“There was this critique about that movement that’s been going around, you know? Of actresses sharing their stories with…. Well… unpleasant men, I guess. Im sorry, this is…. I’m struggling. So anyways, whoever wrote that thing decided he was gonna be a public dick. I mean, it could’ve only been a man. So he goes on about how women ask for stuff like this to happen and all the shit we have all heard hundreds of times before from men who can’t control themselves, and I don't know, it stuck with me for some reason.
“You know, when I’m spiraling like that, I often don’t even notice it until it’s too late. I also can't avoid it because, I mean, I don't remember, so I can hardly know what exactly I don't remember.”
He looked annoyed. Sam could hardly blame him, he couldn't even phantom how frustrating it had to be. Knowing there’s things that you just can’t seem to recall, not even knowing what those things are, but knowing that they exist, because your head is still foggy.
It did, however, go into the direction Sam had dreaded it would. He nodded supportingly.
“And I think it was far too late when I noticed what was happening, because at that point I had no control anymore, it was like my body moved on its own accord. Well, and then the memories did come.
“You know what’s strange? Everytime I remember a specific thing, I seem to remember all of it, and it feels like I'm going through all of it at the same time. It was like that when I first remembered Steve, you know. All of a sudden there weren’t just one or two memories of him, there were all of them. Later, when I had the first flash of what we were, it seemed like all of a sudden every feeling I had for him in like, 20 years, came crashing down on me at once.”
A pause. A deep breath A closing and opening of eyes. Then Bucky continued.
He was shaking now, Sam noticed.
Bucky was talking significantly slower, now. Where before he had stumbled over his words, saying whatever he had on his chest, he was careful now, choosing them wisely.
“They did… things to me. To break me. And not just- not just after I fell. Even back in Azzano. And I’m-”
His breath was shaking violently now, his voice unnaturally flat.
“I’m still too ashamed to admit it.”
The words pierced through Sam's heart like a knife and never before had he wished so much to have been wrong. Bucky was shaking violently, it looked almost as if he was shuddering. Sam knew exactly what was going on at this point. It was so obvious, now, why he couldn’t bring himself to tell Steve. There was no way Steve wouldn’t blame himself, was he to hear exactly what Bucky had just said. This was delicate. But still, it would do no good talking around it. If he wanted to get better, he had to admit his problem. What Sam was about to do was going to be hard, and it was going to hurt.
“Bucky, look at me. I need you to tell me what they did.”
Bucky closed his eyes and swallowed hard.
“Hydra... violated me.”
It was a punch in the stomach, and even prepared, Sam was shocked at the force with which it hit him. He could see the arrhythmic breathing of Bucky, how his shoulders shook ever so slightly, how he shuddered. There was nothing he could do to fix it. Bucky needed help, professional help, it was clearer to him now than ever.
Sam later asked himself why he had never pushed him to go before. It just seemed so painfully arrogant from all of them to just assume Bucky would be fine, being around them. Sam had mentioned it, sure, but he had never pressed further. Everyone was so relieved when Bucky became better that they were probably just scared to push him too far, Sam thought. It seemed to never have occurred to them that the alternate option was so much worse.
It was hard not to blame himself- or anyone else, really- for the state of the man in front of him, shaking and shuddering and traumatized on every possible front. But putting blame on somebody wouldn't help anybody, and late help was still better than none at all.
“Thank you for telling me.”
Bucky nodded, and when Sam slowly put his arm around his shoulders, he let his head fall onto it with a deep exhale.
**
When Steve walked into the kitchen to get coffee two days later, he looked tired and unrested. That was when Sam knew Bucky had told him.
**
Steve took it better than expected. Of course he was shaken up about it, filled to the brim with anger towards Hydra, but he wouldn't let Bucky feel it. When he went boxing, at night or early in the mornings, Sam could hear the punching bags fall, and when he returned, his knuckles were cracked and bloody.
It was alright, Sam figured. Steve had every right to be angry and heartbroken- hell, Sam was too- but when Steve returned, sweaty and out of breath, he seemed centered and more relaxed, and at the moment, that was more than enough. He coped well.
Bucky did too. When Sam had suggested he get professional help, he had simply nodded and thanked him. And he had searched for help, quickly so. There was a weight lifted from Sam's shoulders when Bucky had told him he’d scheduled a therapist's appointment, and another one when he came back from it seeming okay.
**
The sun was poking through the clouds when Sam walked into the kitchen to treat himself to a coffee, like he so often did. The common area was fuller than most days, with everyone trying to catch as much sunlight through the big windows as available. The kid was there, chatting away animatedly to Tony, who tried to mask his affection, horribly failing. Sam liked him, despite the teasing and banter, the kid had his heart in the right place. He was a bit naive, sure, but there were worse things. Rhodey was chatting with Pepper in some corner, mugs in hands. The twins were sprawled out on one couch, Pietro teasing his sister who was trying to read a book. Bruce was reading as well, or he had been, but the sun on his face had made him lean his head back and slumber.
Sam found himself instinctively next to Natasha, sipping coffee in silence side by side. They were both watching the same thing- the same people- in the open space.
On another sofa lay Bucky, head in Steve’s lap, sun softly shining upon it. His eyes were closed, but it appeared he wasn’t sleeping as much as resting his eyes and the rest of his body in the warmth that shone through the windows. Steve looked around absent-mindedly, carding his fingers through Bucky’s outgrown hair. They radiated a kind of peace that, a mere months ago, would have been unthinkable.
Bucky had been getting better and better. At first, Sam had wanted to punch himself for not saying something sooner, but he had settled to be happy for him instead. He wasn't the Bucky Steve knew from 70 years ago, but that was only reasonable. He was never going to be the person he had once been, just as Steve wasn’t the same person that went in the ice in ‘45. But Bucky was learning, maybe for the first time, how to be his own person again, and while there were changes, they were broadly positive.
He still had bad days, but no one expected him not to.
Nat nudged Sam in the side. “You alright over there?” Her tone was playful, but soft. Sam nodded.
“They’re doing well, aren’t they?”
“Better than ever.”
Sam smiled, at that, and nodded his head slightly.
In the silence that followed, Nat’s gaze shifted onto him, studying his expressions.
“Penny for your thoughts?” she said, eventually, and Sam smiled, shaking his head a little.
“Just… let’s enjoy the moment, for a while. It’s good. It’s really good, right now. Isn't it?”
She put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it a little.
“It is.”
With that, she pinched him and started running.
As Sam chased her through the halls of the compound, laughing and cursing her, it was clearer than ever:
Right now was really, really, good.