Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"It's the perfect place, Sam!" Riley took a spin around the kitchen. "Look at all this cabinet space! And it's the *correct* fridge-sink-stove setup!"

Sam could only laugh and shake his head. Two weeks ago, he didn't even know Riley had such strong opinions about kitchen layouts, but then somehow Riley got it into his head that they should buy a house together. Sam found out when Riley let himself into Sam’s apartment on Saturday morning, made coffee and pancakes, then woke Sam by pushing him off the bed and dumping a pile of open house listings on him.

Riley now disappeared into a side room. "Oh, nice! A den! You can hide here and watch TV and be boring whenever I have Leslie over!" Sam mentally replaced Leslie with any number of women that Riley managed to date for a few months before the inevitable amicable break-up. Riley was always looking for new experiences, and frankly, Sam couldn’t ever see him staying with one person or one place… ever.

"So, um... why are we doing this again?"

Riley didn’t even bother to turn from his quest to count all the outlets in the den. "Because real estate is cheap right now, and it's a good investment before we get deployed."

"No, I mean, why are *we* doing this? Isn't buying a house together something that married people do?" Sam mock-narrowed his eyes. "Have you been into guys this whole time and not bothered to tell me?"

Riley stopped roving about the room and gave Sam a rare solemn look, and shrugged. "I know what I'm like, okay? I'm probably never gonna settle down with a single person, at least, not romantically.” Riley leaned back against the wall and fiddled with some stray paint on the molding. “But as far as life partners go -- you're it. I mean, 10th grade was, what, 10 years ago? And you’re the only person outside of family who’s stuck around. And the other day, I realized that I wanted to make that official.” Now Riley’s deeply engrossed in his shoes. “This is why I needed to find the perfect place -- a house for 3 and a half people -- me, my dates, you, and whoever you eventually end up with."

And then the moment was too much, and Riley was off checking the downstairs bedroom and yelling about the water pressure in the attached shower. If it were anyone else, Sam’d probably say something in return, about how he couldn’t imagine life without Riley, how the thought of living in a house with Riley filled him with so much *rightness* he’s fit to burst. But it’s Riley, so instead, Sam just smiled and followed Riley downstairs.

That’s the way it was: where Riley went, Sam followed.

Later, Sam did remember to ask, "What are we going to do with the house when we deploy in two months?"

Riley shrugged. "Rent it out, I guess. I can get Haley or Kylie to manage it. Or, you know, let it sit empty with all of our crap in it -- our pay can cover mortgage, and imagine not having to pay for storage for all of our boxes of shit."

"What if one or both of us don't make it back?" It's always a possibility. “Should we put one of your sisters on the deed?”

Riley rolled his eyes. "What if one of us dies in a car crash? Jeez, just sign the damn deed, you worrywort."

-----

Sam was right to worry.

Finally, Riley managed to go somewhere that Sam could not follow.

--------------

Sam stands in the empty house and looks around at the moving boxes that they only got halfway through unpacking before they had to deploy.

He realizes that he’s been standing there for a while when his stomach rumbles.

He unpacks some of Riley’s pots and pans, coughing through two years’ worth of dust, and finds a package of ramen and some utensils in one of his boxes.

He eats expired ramen straight from the pot, standing by the stove so that he doesn’t have to sit at Riley’s table. The living room is piled haphazardly with boxes that belonged to Riley, half-open and labeled with things like "Why do I have this?", "The Good Porn" and "Kitchen."

He didn’t think he had any tears left, but he was wrong.

After, he unpacks Riley's box of kitchen stuff. Puts the rest in Riley's room, unopened.

-----

He finds a job that doesn't involve flying or people to save. Working as a busboy is mind-numbing work, so it’s perfect.

-----

The first time someone comes into the house, it’s the neighbor’s kid -- she’d knocked a ball into the yard and had to come through to fetch it.

The kid looks around, wide-eyed, and for the first time, Sam sees what she’s seeing: the living room with its stray boxes gathering dust, the pile of mail on the staircase, the lone light in the kitchen. The bare walls.

What had he been doing to Riley’s house? Sam didn’t even have any fun trinket to offer the kid, just piles of Amazon boxes.

So after the kid leaves, Sam tries to fix things up a bit. Unpack the rest of his boxes. Put up the stuff that Riley’s family had given him whenever he stopped by for Sunday dinner -- plants in the kitchen, tchotchkes in the living room, and Riley’s Air Force stuff in Riley’s room.

Sam makes a new chores list that includes keeping the house dusted and organized. After all, it’s the least he could do for Riley.

-----

Sam finds that he doesn’t know how to talk to people. He was one man of a two man show, and he keeps waiting for Riley to chime in with a joke or a smile.

It’s a pity that only he could hear Riley.

It’s okay, no one expects the busboy to talk much anyway.

Sam keeps the house clean, and stays downstairs only long enough to eat ramen in the kitchen and drink orange juice straight out of the carton.

-----

The first time, it happens by accident -- one of the waiters was talking about his weekend and Riley had a really good joke about plates and plate tectonics. It’s kind of a pity to not share it just because Riley’s gone, so Sam says it for him. The waiter laughs and pats him on the back.

So Sam starts to speak up for Riley more. Say what Riley would have said. Smile when Riley would have smiled. Invite work colleagues to the house for dinner parties, and play host. One person can do a two-man show if he tries hard enough. Just because Riley’s gone doesn’t mean he has to be *gone*. And without Riley around to punch Sam out of his moping, Sam has to do it himself.

-----

He starts using Riley's cups instead of drinking orange juice straight from the carton.

-----

He buys a firmer bed and finally starts sleeping better.

-----

He quits his busboy job and goes to work at the VA.

-----

He stocks the kitchen with the stuff that Riley used to make, and tries to make them. Banana pancakes. Chiles rellenos. Albondigas.

He buys recipe books and manages to make a decent enough baigan burta that Riley's mom gets seconds at the Memorial Day party.

-----

He unpacks Riley's CD collection and puts it on the built-in shelves in the living room. Riley's side has twice as much as his side, so he starts buying more CDs.

He buys a nice speaker system and fills the house with music when he's cooking.

-----

He starts smiling more, and the words come easier. It gets harder to tell which words were his and which words were Riley’s.

-----

"Hey Wilson! Good job with the session today! Loved the backpack analogy."

Sam turns and smiles at Naomi. "Thanks! It means a lot, coming from you. I love your sessions about re-integration. Oh hey, have you seen Jupiter Ascending? I've heard mixed reviews, and can't decide whether I want to see it in theaters or not." Small talk comes easily now. Riley would be proud.

Naomi shrugs. "It's all right, I guess. I think the people who liked it are the ones who find Eddie Redmayne or Channing Tatum hot, so..."

"I guess my question is -- do I find Channing Tatum hot enough to see him be a rollerblading space werewolf with wings...."

Naomi rolls her eyes and they laugh. Nice and easy and normal. Smile at people, and they smile back.

"Oh hey, my wife and I are finally starting the house hunt -- any tips? It must have taken forever to find your place."

Sam reminds himself of his own fucking backpack analogy, and says, "Sure -- make sure to check the outlet locations in the room where you want the TV, and there *is* a correct fridge-sink-stove setup."

-----

It gets better.

He joins a vets' soccer team with Jake, one of the guys from work. He buys a new TV and a Playstation for the den and invites folks over for chips and gaming.

He starts leaving stuff around the house -- soccer cleats, game controllers, bags of chips.

Some nights, he dresses up and goes to bars. Twice, he even goes home with someone. (Always their place, though.) He buys a few toys on the internet and starts saying yes when Haley invites him over for a threesome.

One day, he realizes with a start that he might actually be happy. Or at least, he doesn't have to remind himself to smile anymore.

He rewards himself with a fancy ice cream sandwich the size of his fist.

-----

He thinks about renting out Riley's room. Or maybe doing an AirBnB.

He gets as far as moving all of Riley's boxes into the garage and setting the room up as a proper bedroom. Even takes nice photos of the room.

And then somehow he just kept putting off posting it online.

-----

One morning there is a knock on his door and it's Captain America, who he’d met just the day before, and the Black Widow, who he last saw on TV. They were looking for a safe place, so of course Sam invites them in. He hesitates only a second before letting them crash in Riley's room.

As Sam heads to the kitchen to make a supersoldier-sized breakfast, he takes in the living room with its well-worn couch cushions, the den with the video game controllers on the floor, and the kitchen with the plants on the window sill. It's time, Sam realizes. He's ready to fly again.

While they use Riley's shower, he goes and digs up his old EXO files.

Chapter Text

When Sam offered to help Steve find Bucky Barnes, he thought they'd start right away. But by the time Steve got his stuff from his compromised apartment, Congress had started subpoenaing everyone they could get their hands on, and Tony Stark called to talk about having some sort of group that could deal with the sort of stuff that SHIELD used to deal with. It suddenly became impossible for Captain America to run off chasing after the Winter Soldier.

What it boils down to is this: Steve Rogers now lives in Riley's room, Sam's still going to work every day, and, a month after Battle of the Triskellion, it's *Sam* who finds Bucky Barnes – aka the Winter Soldier aka the Hottest Howling Commando – sitting in the living room and studying Riley's music collection.

----

Sam knows he should feel happy for Steve -- after all, this is his best friend, back to life. And looking relatively nonlethal, at that.

And Steve needs this, so much. Sure, Sam had to carry Riley's burned and broken body back to base in his arms, but after he came back home, he had Riley’s family, and Riley’s kitchen gadgets, and this house that they’d bought together. Sam's pretty sure Steve Rogers spent the last two years standing in the cemetery. (Probably doesn't help that all the rest of the guy's friends and family are there, too.)

So yeah, Sam gets it: Still-Alive (but Brainwashed) Best Friend means that Steve’s two-man show is back on air.

That doesn't stop his brain from feeling a jolt of irrational irritation, though.

"Oh, hey. Steve's out meeting with some senator. Lemme make us some breakfast." Sam says automatically, and then retreats to the safety of his kitchen and starts in on the pancake mix.

In a moment, he'll feel happy for them. In a moment, he'll go out and feed the poor guy and talk to him like a decent person should. But first, Sam allows himself the unjustified-but-valid anger of "Why not Riley?" course through him. Why is it that he had to bury his best friend and Steve's is just sitting out in the living room, on Riley's couch, no less? Why is it that these All-American white guys are the ones getting to survive while Riley is a pile of bones in the ground?

He knows it's goddamn irrational, but so's swerving to avoid a plastic bag, so he's going to stir the pancake batter with vigor and feel sorry for himself. He's allowed.

By the third pancake, Sam's already feeling better, and after a quick text to Steve ("Your guy's here") he throws some nuts and banana slices into the batter.

Riley would want Sam to be kind, and reach out. Help these two young grandpas however he can.

Sam manages to find half a bag of chocolate chips in the back of the baking cupboard in time for pancake 8.

Sam deems 12 pancakes to probably be enough for a regular-sized sulk and a supersoldier appetite, and carries them out to meet Barnes.

Barnes' eyes go round at the plates, and Sam feels a stab of pity. What's the guy been eating? He doesn’t look too malnourished… "Here's the plain ones, and these have nuts, in case you have some allergy to that." Sam pushed the plates toward Barnes.

Barnes looks at the pancakes with quiet reverence. "They're all for me?"

Sam knows how awkward it is to have someone else just watch you eat, so he snags a chocolate-pecan one. “I’m not that hungry because I ate all the ugly ones just now. So the rest is yours."

Barnes picks up the plate with the plain pancakes and starts methodically working through them. Sam takes the opportunity to do a more thorough visual assessment. Barnes probably hasn’t shaved since Insight, but his hair is tied back neatly in a small ponytail. He’s probably wearing all of his clothes right now, but they have been recently washed. So: living on the streets but keeping clean via accessible bathrooms, perhaps?

“Hey, do you need money? Have a place to stay?” Sam tries to keep it light and easy – give Barnes the option of answering simply, but also provide the opportunity to elaborate.

Barnes turns to look at Sam and … wow. Underneath all that scruff are slate gray eyes that somehow remind Sam of finding shelter in a sandstorm.

Sam catches his breath as Barnes carefully constructs his reply. “I have safe access to sufficient funds. I have a place to sleep where I am protected from potential attack.”

That sounds a bit too much like a mission report, and Sam’s pretty sure even a dumpster would count as a “place protected from potential attack,” but at least Barnes is answering his questions.

Barnes bites into his fifth pancake and suddenly stops, brows knit. "This has chocolate."

"Oh, um... yeah. Is that problem? Sorry I didn't mention it. Are you allergic to caffeine?"

"No, it isn't a problem. I am not allergic to caffeine." Another careful response.

Barnes takes another bite. And another. Riley would probably fill this space with words, but Sam waits. He mentally picks one of the CDs off the shelf and starts humming along to it.

"It is unexpected, the chocolate." Barnes is halfway into the next pancake when he speaks again. "The Secretary would give me chocolate on his birthday. And then I would get on my knees and thank him." Barnes carefully takes another bite of his pancake. Closes his eyes and savors. "I forgot. That I can eat chocolate. That it doesn't have to come from the Secretary."

Fuck, that’s sick. It wasn't enough that Pierce had an on-demand assassin, but he expected *gratitude*? Sam looks at the man sitting across from him. He knows that this is the same guy that ripped his wings and punched Steve bloody, but sitting there with shoulders drawn in and making the tiniest movements possible with his fork, Barnes looked miniscule. Trying his hardest to not take up any space. Sam thinks back to when he only ventured out of the bedroom to make ramen in the kitchen, and wants to give this guy a hug. Instead, he just says, "Well, my current chocolate stash is depleted, but after Steve gets home we can go and get as much as you want. In fact…" Sam pulls out his phone. "Let me see if I can get him to pick some up on his way back."

Barnes' eyes widens and his hand makes an abortive motion towards Sam's phone before he pulls it back to his side. "No, please." Barnes swallowed. "Please don't tell the Captain that I was here."

Um, what? Steve's Best-Friend-Who-Needs-A-Hug shows up and turns out he doesn't want to see Steve?

Sam carefully puts the phone down, and some tension goes out of Barnes’ frame. Sam eyes the clock. 9:33. Barnes didn't know he'd already texted Steve, and if Steve manages to run out of the meeting when he sent the text, then he only has 5 minutes before Steve shows up. It’s not enough time to figure out what's going on and actually convince Barnes to stay. So he can either stall and wait for Steve, or trust Barnes and let him go.

Sam looks again at Barnes' pleading face, looking at Sam like a trapped animal whose life is in his hands. And for a moment Sam can feel the power that Pierce must have felt -- to have the Winter fucking Soldier be like putty in your hands. Begging for chocolate on his knees. Sam felt sick. Lives are to be saved, not molded.

"Here." Sam stuffs the remaining pancakes in a bag, then grabs Barnes' hand and writes his number on it. "Steve will be back in a few minutes. If you don’t want to see him, you need to go now. BUT I expect a very thorough explanation as to WHY."

Barnes looks at him, then at the pancakes in the bag. Opens and closes his mouth a few times. Finally, he settles on a firm nod and disappears out the back door.

10 seconds later, Sam gets a text message from a new number that says simply, "Thank you."

Sam saves it to his phone as "the pancake guy" and prepares himself to face Steve.

----

Steve takes the message of "Your undead best friend showed up but got cold feet" about as well as Sam expects him to, which is not at all. After he drilled Sam on every single minute of the encounter, he sits down on the couch and put his head between his hands. Sam could sense the Mighty Jaws of America clenching and unclenching from all the way across the room, and goes to heat up some tea in the kitchen. He picks one of Riley’s mugs, a really ridiculous one with purple tentacles all over it.

Steve’s still in the same place, so Sam puts the mug down in front of him and gropes for something to say that's not ‘Your friend ran away when he heard you were coming.’

“He’s okay, Steve. There’ll be another chance.”

From somewhere in the depths of his hands, Steve chuckles mirthlessly. “Another chance? He called me ‘Captain’ and begged you not to tell me that he was here. Pretty sure that’s not ‘okay’."

"No, Steve, he’s actually..." Sam pulls himself short. What does he know about Barnes, compared to Steve? But the way Barnes looked at him, the clarity in those beautiful gray eyes…

But Steve isn’t listening. Steve’s entire body trembles like an earthquake passing through, then it abruptly stops. Then Steve is standing up and looking 90% American Icon. "I’ve got to get back to my meeting." Goes to his room and re-emerges with a clean jacket.

What the hell. Sam's done his share of repression in the first few months after Riley died, but Steve blows that out of the water. Captain America is a fucking 4-star General in Shoving it Down and Pretending Everything's Fine.

Ugh. Not in this house. He did *not* give Steve Riley’s room just so that he can mope around in it.

Sam intercepts Steve on his way to the door. And just … holds on. Steve tenses at first, but as Sam takes long slow breaths on those perfect shoulders, he feels the sharp edges of Steve’s back begin to soften. Slowly, Sam reaches up and starts running his hand up and down Steve's back. It’s like circling over a new stretch of Afghan terrain: with each fly-around, the air currents becomes easier to navigate, and the ground cover becomes more familiar. Run his hand over the vertebrae and let them ease.

Finally, finally: Steve slumps against him and sighs. "Thanks, Sam. I needed that."

"Damn right you did." Sam gives Steve an extra pat for good measure, then pushes him out the door. "Shoo, don't keep the senators waiting -- that's wasting my taxpayer money." Steve chuckles and jabs him lightly in the arm before heading off.

Strategic hug deployment successful. And just in time, too. Sam changes into one of his work shirts and takes the metro to work. Usually he listens to podcasts along the way, but today he kind of gets distracted thinking about the firmness of Steve's shoulders and Barnes’ slate blue eyes and beautiful jawline. Ah well. As Riley told him the first time he caught Sam looking, appreciation isn't a crime.

"You look happy," Haley says to him when he gets in the door at the VA. "Are you and Captain America getting it on?"

"Haley!" Sam hisses. "Not so loud! I don't want news vans at my door!" Good thing he only told Haley enough to get her off his back about Sunday dinners.

Haley gives Sam an apologetic look. "Sorry. It's just that... well, I haven't seen you smile like that since that Fourth of July potluck with Riley."

Wow. Vague supersoldier-appreciation boner is now completely gone.

“I wasn’t… Steve’s not…” Steve’s not Riley. No one can be Riley, even if Steve’s living in Riley’s room right now.

"Maybe he's into stars *and* stripes, Sam." Haley thankfully interprets Sam’s floundering to be about Steve’s sexual orientation. "I'm just calling it how I see it: you meet him for a run and he shows up here a few hours later, freshly showered. Then you run off and do crazy hero things with him. Then he moves into Riley’s room. Now you come in here all a-glow. If you two *aren't* getting it on... you clearly should."

Sam sighs. "Why the sudden interest in my love life?"

Haley leaned in conspiratorially. "Cheryl keeps trying to set us up, and I would *love* it if you kissed Captain America in front of her."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "What's wrong with just telling her that I'm gay?"

Haley made a face. "I did. She didn't believe me. Said, 'but he looks so normal, and he dresses like a guy.'"

Ugh. White People. This is why he generally doesn't date them -- all that privilege is so high maintenance.

At least Steve’s good people. And Barnes… well…

Sam's phone buzzes.

It's a text from "the pancake guy”: Thank you for your discretion. As promised, I shall visit and explain myself at 0540 tomorrow while Steve is out. No need to make breakfast.

Huh. Guess he’ll be finding out more about Barnes tomorrow morning.

Chapter Text

Despite all of Sam's best jokes and hugs, it is one very tense and repressed supersoldier who leaves for the house at 5:30am. 10 minutes later, the doorbell rings and another tense supersoldier is on Sam's front steps. Barnes is exactly on time, which... well, Sam's not particularly surprised. The text message had been a precise 140 characters, and Barnes struck Sam as someone who kept things in order, despite the whole ripping-out-your-steering-wheel thing.

“He’s not here.” Sam confirms for Barnes. Sam had thought about telling Steve about Barnes' message, but decided against it after Steve spent the entirety of dinner quietly fretting about Barnes. Telling Steve would have just added to the stress, and if Barnes bolts again -- well at least Sam can lessen the blow.

Barnes shifts into a more relaxed stance on the doorstep. "Hello, Falcon."

"Please, call me Sam." Sam steps aside to let him in. Barnes is wearing the same clothes as yesterday, but his scruff is gone, and … why is there a pot handle poking out of one of the two bulky grocery bags that he’s carrying?

"Acknowledged." Barnes pauses for a quick scan of the perimeter, then walks purposefully into the kitchen. He puts the grocery bags on the counter, and starts pulling out neatly packed breakfast ingredients. A lot of them. Flour, eggs, buttermilk, bacon, three different sized pans, and ... wow, a mini muffin tin. All brand new.

"Um...? Did you just bring a whole kitchen into my kitchen? Coulda told you I had eggs...."

"I wanted to thank you, Sam. And I remembered that I used to make breakfast for my family. So: making breakfast for you would be a good use of an applicable skillset." Barnes says as he deftly cracks 3 eggs into a mixing bowl, eyeballs the right amount of flour and milk, and, with a quick glance at Sam for permission to turn on the stove, starts some bacon on a skillet.

Interesting.

Sam leans against the doorway and tries to figure out why Barnes was so different from yesterday. Yesterday, he had to ask permission for everything but today, he's cooking in the kitchen like he owned it. Barnes came with all of his own gear, and he knew exactly how to use every single item, as if he'd planned every...

Of course. This is the Winter Soldier on a mission. Razor sharp focus and flawless execution. Directed at pancakes and muffins, sure, but no less effective.

Okay, maybe Sam has a thing for practiced effortlessness. The ease and grace that comes from utter proficiency. It's like how his heart would go pitter-patter every time Riley did one of his fancy loop-de-loops in the air (curse the dude for being straight), or when James Zhang talked to him about his favorite Impressionist painters first year of college (too bad the guy was anti-military).

Barnes pulls a sizzling strip of bacon from the skillet *with his metal hand*, and offers it to Sam. Sam takes a bite and can't help closing his eyes. It's the perfect amount of crunch. That’s it, Sam is going to marry that hand. Or at least picture that hand’s special sensors applied to, well, certain *other* tasks.

Wait. Barnes is actually here for a reason. With an internal sigh, Sam pushes his much-neglected libido to the back burner. "You're not doing this to distract me, are you? I mean, not that I'm complaining or anything, but ... sure you don't want Steve to have any of this?"

"Steve." The hand stirring the pancake batter falters. "The Captain."

“Yeah, why do you still call him that?”

Barnes stops stirring altogether, locks his eyes on the pan full of bacon grease, and starts breathing heavily.

Sam figures that's as good a time as any to take over the pancake making. He steps up and gently takes the mixing bowl from Barnes, careful not to touch him without permission. "Hey, how about you chop some pecans for the pancakes? There's a bag in the cupboard to the right of the sink." Sam is half-braced for some sort of violent reaction -- startling vets is never fun -- but Barnes just quietly steps out of the way, and soon Sam hears rhythmic chopping behind him.

Good. There's nothing like simple repetitive tasks to ease the mind and loosen the tongue.

Sure enough: "Do you know what it's like, to be a machine that's cobbled together from different pieces?"

Barnes pre-empts Sam's response. "I mean, I know I'm human. At least, my brain does. My body, on the other hand... Parts of me are from the 1940s, and those are the parts that remember Steve.” Barnes stumbles on Steve’s name again, and sighs. “But there have been so many upgrades over the last 70 years. It's like someone took a car engine out of an Adler Diplomat and jury-rigged it to be an IS-7 tank. So now when the engine turns, all it does is kill people."

Sam has to close his eyes for a moment, to deal with the twinge in his chest. Poor guy -- had his mind literally taken apart and rebuilt to be a killing machine. Sam flashes, improbably, to the kid clutching the AK-47 in Kan... No. Get it together, Sam. Leave your baggage out of this.

"Hey, I'm out of batter. Mind mixing up some more? Whatever you were doing is making them super tasty." Sam turns and hands Barnes the empty bowl. Then adds after he's turned back to the pan, "Tanks don't have to kill people, you know. They can drive pretty fast, too."

"The engine part of me wants to be here, with Steve. But when I think about the Captain, all of these other ... habits kick in."

Barnes hands Sam a new bowl of batter. Sam takes the opportunity to ask, "Habits?"

Barnes looks uncomfortable. "Conditioned responses. For a long time, I had only handlers and missions. So. Bad habits." Sounded like he didn't want to talk about it, so Sam passes him a plate of pancakes, and gropes for the right thing to say.

"Y’know, a lot of the vets that I meet at the VA have … bad habits from their service. Hear certain sounds, see certain things, and suddenly you’re ducking or swerving or just shaking uncontrollably." Barnes nods, slowly, so Sam continues. “And conditioned responses aren’t just limited to military. You know about implicit bias? Turns out that if you live in America long enough, you start to subconsciously associate black people with negative concepts.” Sam's not going to get into how hard his own results shook him. "We're all full of conditioned responses, but knowing it means that we can take steps to address it, right? Habits can be changed. If you were conditioned in these responses, maybe you can condition your way out of it."

He feels Barnes's on him, so he forces himself to keep making pancakes. "If seeing Steve triggers some ... specific thoughts or reactions... maybe we can control how much exposure you get to Steve, slowly ease you in."

He's probably breaking a thousand rules on proper handling of someone with Barnes' level of trauma, but somehow the shape of it feels right. And sure enough, he turns to find Barnes nodding thoughtfully while deftly peeling and slicing an apple. "What would that look like?"

“I don’t know but … hmm, I have a garage that I don't use anymore -- easy to get in and out." Now's not the time for a joke about what Barnes did to his car. "It can be your space -- off limits for Steve and me. And... you should make a schedule and a list of rules, for interacting with Steve. I can help enforce that, so that you and Steve are accountable to someone else.”

Barnes worries his lip.

“You can always leave if it’s not working out, but in the mean time, it’s a safe place to stay, and hey… I have free internet. I pay for the good plan, so you can stream in the highest of defs.” Sam’s not sure how much Barnes is tracking any of this, but he’s found that it’s more about the tone of voice than what is actually being said. He aims for ‘welcoming’.

Sam flashes Barnes a smile, and finds a small smile echoed back as Barnes hands him an apple slice. "Okay, Sam. I will try."

Oh wow, that smile. Like the first leaf buds to peek out on tree branches in February. And directed at him, no less.

Sam gives himself a small shake and starts figuring out how to clear out his garage.

-------

"Who's Riley?" Barnes asks as he follows Sam with a box labeled "Riley's Secret Stuff! (lol it's more porn)" from the garage to the attic.

Sam feels the well-worn words come out calm over the tightening of his chest, and is glad that he's in the lead and Barnes can't see his face. "He was my wingman. Took a hit and I couldn't save him." He manages a shrug, but it comes out shaky. "He was going to live here, so I ended up with a bunch of his stuff."

Barnes is silent behind him as they trudge up the stairs. Finally, he states simply, "He was more than a friend."

"Yeah, more like a ...." Sam feels himself choke up. Like a platonic life partner? Like the other half of all his sentences? “A brother.” Close enough and yet too far.

"Did you and him... like Steve and me..."

The question's so familiar that Sam responds on automatic before he quite registers what Barnes said. "Nah. I mean, I'm gay, but Riley was like a 1 on the Kinsey scale."

"I mean, I don't know what you and Steve were like, actually..." Maybe Barnes was just gonna say "live together" or "were best friends." Does Barnes even know the Kinsey scale? Sam worms his way into the attic and sets down his box.

Barnes' voice is that flat tone that he uses whenever he talks about Steve. "I have memories of having sex with him."

"Oh." Guess Haley's right, then. Sam tries to move on, because Barnes has a particularly blank and Winter Soldier-like look on his face. "Anyway, his room's Steve's now -- figured Riley'd be okay with Captain America living in his room." He loved all those hokey comics way more than Sam did. Even played Captain America in his 4th grade school play. If Riley were alive he'd be over the moon. Doing morning runs with Steve, and probably handling all of this stuff much better...

It comes out of nowhere, like a stab in the back. Riley didn't get to meet Steve. Will never get to meet Steve. Yet another thing that he's missed, being dead and all.

He's been pretending that it's Riley's room, when Riley's never lived there in the first place. Having Steve live in Riley's room means jack shit to Riley, because Riley is dead dead dead and nothing's bringing him back... not his work at the VA, not making jokes with Haley, not helping take down Insight, nothing.

"Hey." A soft hand on his back.

Sam stares at the words on the box ("Hot Stuff (Clothes)") and focuses on his breaths. Alpha. Bravo. Charlie. Delta. Echo. Foxtrot. Golf. Hotel. India.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked." Barnes's voice seems particularly gentle.

Juliett. Kilo. Lima. Mike. November.

"It's okay." Sam stands back up and makes himself go down the attic stairs. Oscar. Papa. Quebec. Romeo. "C'mon, more boxes to move."

He focuses on Barnes' solid footsteps following him, all the way back down to the garage.

On the way back up with another bunch of boxes, Sam says by way of apology, "I actually like talking about Riley. It's just ... been a while, is all."

This time, Barnes is in front, carrying 5 boxes with ease. "Then talk about him."

So Sam does.

He talks about Riley's dumb jokes. The pranks they used to pull, since everyone expects Mexicans to be brown. About how they first met. About his family's extravagant Independence Day parties (both of them). Barnes doesn't say much -- Sam gets the feeling that expressing emotion and opinions is still kind of new to him -- but it feels nice, to talk about Riley without the hurt and the guilt.

It wasn't until they'd cleared out the garage that Sam realized that he'd been yammering on for at least half an hour. "Oh jeez, sorry about that."

Barnes says simply, "Thank you for telling me, Sam. I liked hearing it. He sounded like a good friend."

"Yeah, yeah he is." And this time, the reminder that Riley's gone didn't hurt as much. "He was a big fan of the Cap and the Howling Commandos -- I think he would have been jazzed to meet you."

He gets rewarded with another small smile from Barnes. This one is like the first popsicle of the summer.

-----

Barnes writes a schedule that seems simple enough: Begin with only interacting with Steve for dinner, and then expanding to evening and morning activities.

“Just out of curiosity, what are you going to do with the rest of your time?”

Barnes shrugs. “You said free internet, so I will hack into your Netflix account and watch 70 years worth of movies.”

“... Is that a joke?”

Barnes looks somewhat surprised himself. “I… I guess so?” Then quietly, “First one in seventy years….”

Sam doesn’t want to dwell on those seventy years too much, so he moves on. “Well, the TV in the den is already hooked up to Netflix, so you don’t even have to hack into anything. I gotta head out to work, but the garage is all yours, and feel free to watch as much TV as you want, man.”

Sam sends the details to Steve with a warning not to get home until after 6pm, then it’s off to the VA. Barnes offers to make dinner, so Sam spends a bit too much of his work thinking about that sexy metal hand pulling bacon straight out of the pan. Barnes is… good. Amazingly so. Sam finds himself grinning and putting extra energy into his sessions – if Barnes can go from dead-eyed Winter Soldier to the person in Sam’s house today, then his vets can, too. Sam’s last session runs a bit late because of some one-on-ones, so he finds himself practically running from the metro stop back to the house. This is it: Steve will have a dramatic reunion with Barnes, Barnes will do that cute small smile of his, and then it’s Mission Accomplished.

When he gets in the door, the first thing Sam notices is the garage door ajar, neatly organized with shapes of new furniture inside. Then he smells it: Dinner. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, home-made gravy… Sam follows his nose into the dining room and takes in the minestrone, green beans, and... is that gizzards?

"Sam! Come sit down so that we can eat!" Steve waves from the head of the table, a big grin on his face.

Sam smiles back and slides into his seat. "Whoa, didn't know white people liked gizzards."

"Nah, we used to use all of the chicken -- no sense wasting food." Sam hasn't seen Steve this happy in a while. Steve then proceeds to explain all the stuff they used to eat back then, and how modern diners just aren't the same.

Except that Sam isn’t really paying attention, because he’s turned and caught sight of Barnes. Barnes is sitting to the left of Steve, hair tied back and wearing a new button-down shirt. His metal hand is gloved and he is ladling said gizzards onto Steve’s plate with a singular focus.

Something’s off. Sam can’t quite place it, but Barnes’ eyes no longer feel like a safe haven in a sandstorm, they are tight, nervous, guarded, it’s almost as if… Just then, Barnes breaks into a wide, open smile, and jabs Steve in the ribs. "Quit yer yapping, Steve! I'm starving -- let's get started!"

Sam almost chokes on a bite of chicken.

The rest of dinner was Steve stuffing his mouth full of chicken and mashed potatoes ("Wow, Bucky, just the way I like them!") and talking excitedly about "remember when" and "there was that time..." Barnes would guffaw and smirk and deadpan at all the right places, voice dripping Brooklyn.

Sam'd never seen either of them this animated. He holds up his part of the dinnertime conversation, but spends most of the time just watching the Steve and Bucky two man show. Steve is deliriously happy to have his friend back, and Bucky is giving as good as he gets. The in-jokes and good-natured jibes flow like water, and Sam finds himself missing Riley.

This time, it’s that familiar dull ache of wanting to lean on Riley and let him take over for a while. It tends to happen at the end of a long day, when holding himself together in front of company seem especially hard, and today started at 5am and hasn't stopped. But Sam smiles and nods and rides it out: he's learned to live without Riley.

All too soon, the table is covered in scattered bones and empty plates. As they're getting up from the dinner table, Steve pulls Barnes into a hug and says, all earnestness and emotion, "Hey Buck. Thanks for coming back to me. I've missed you." Barnes freezes just a moment before folding his arms around Steve. Then, he is all smiles and apology as he gestures at his schedule, then retreats to the garage.

That leaves Sam and Steve to do the dishes. Or rather, Steve to jabber nonstop about how great it is that Bucky seems to remember everything, and Sam to make vague noises and dry the dishes. After Steve finishes washing the last dish, he pulls Sam into a big hug, and laughs in relief. “Thanks, Sam. You’re right -- I shouldn’t have worried, Bucky’s strong, always been. Sure, he doesn’t seem willing to talk about his Winter Soldier days, but… he’s okay! I should have trusted you, trusted *him*.” Steve pulls back and hits Sam with a million-watt smile. “Bucky’s going to be fine.”

Yeah. Totally fine.

Well, at least there’s someone else giving Steve hugs now, and really, who can say no to Happy Captain America?

Except … Sam needs to talk to Barnes.

-------

"So, last night." Sam's leaning against the garage door, watching Barnes lay down some sort of makeshift wrestling mat in the garage. Steve bounded awake and headed off to his myriad meetings with extra exuberance this morning, which meant that Sam could check on Barnes, finally.

The mat falls onto the floor with a slap. "It went as expected." Barnes moves a few potted plants onto the mat and carefully avoids eye contact with Sam.

"You mean... you expected that you'd act like Bucky Barnes from the 1930s? *That's* your conditioning?"

"It's either that or treat him like a mission.” Barnes makes a sharp stabbing gesture with his hand to indicate what that would entail. Sam swallows. He’s been on the receiving end of the Winter Soldier’s deadly efficiency before. “Or like the Secretary." Barnes blanks out for a moment there, and it makes Sam feel very, very glad that they dropped a building on Pierce. When Barnes speaks again, his voice comes out tight and controlled. "Don't worry, Sam. It's not any worse than the other kind of conditioned response. Better, mostly."

And then, abruptly, as if the tension in the room was too much, Barnes grabs his mixing bowls and starts towards the kitchen.

Sam thinks about the nervous man in his living room the first day, surprised that he could have chocolate without having to thank Pierce. The ruthless Winter Soldier on the bridge, intent on executing his mission. And the man currently in the kitchen, consciously trying to make something good with his hands. Whose small, rare smiles make Sam’s heart leap.

Sam follows the smell of pancakes. Yeah, there are definitely worse alternatives.

Chapter Text

Turns out that Barnes does have a plan for the time that Sam and Steve are out of the house.

He starts by buying a lot of stuff -- clothes, books, kitchen gadgets, 4 different kinds of Cheerios. When Sam asks, he shrugs. "I have money, and I like owning things. Assets don't have possessions." It's a bit weird to have Barnes keep all that in the garage, though, so Sam gives Barnes explicit permission to have free rein of the house.

Barnes soon takes over watering of Sam's plants, and starts putting freshly cut flowers in the kitchen. He dusts and straightens all of the tchochkes in the living room. Sometimes he asks Sam about a particular item, so Sam talks to Barnes about his family in New York, and Riley's family here.

"You don't have to do all these chores," Sam points out one day.

Barnes shrugs as he organizes the wires behind the TV console. "I'll stop if you want me to, Sam. But I need things to do, and I like this house."

Sam doesn't want to think about Riley sprawled out in the den, so instead he says, "Well, if you need more things to do, maybe time to add things to your schedule."

Barnes doesn't reply immediately, but a few days later, he adds "after-dinner time with Steve" to his schedule. Steve is ecstatic, naturally.

Sam bites his tongue and starts the two of them on the wonders of the Netflix queue. Something fun and relaxing, but also not insulting to the brain cells. Something to keep Steve occupied so that Barnes didn't have to do all the work like he does at dinner.

--------

Barnes starts methodically working his way through all of the CDs in the living room. Once, Sam comes home to find Barnes writing in one of his journals and humming Riley's favorite song.

He only makes it to Echo before Barnes notices and comes over to squat beside him in the foyer.

It feels good, to have someone to share Riley with.

After that, Sam asks Barnes to use Riley's bowls and spatulas. Barnes' own mixing bowls gets mixed in with all the others in the cupboard, and Sam can't help but smile at that.

--------

After about a month, Barnes adds morning runs with Steve to his schedule.

They come back sweaty and playfully batting at each other. Steve crows that he won the last lap, and Bucky says something about how those other newsboys should see Steve now.

After Steve leaves, Barnes chugs a protein shake, and dives head-first into chores. Sam can hear the gears in his arm revving as Barnes matches tupperware lids in the kitchen.

“Barnes? How’d the run go? You need a break from Steve? I can come along, or maybe take it off your schedule again?” Sam tries to keep the worry out of his voice, and remind himself that no one pressured Barnes into the schedule change.

Barnes fills the kitchen vase with fresh daisies. “I’m fine. I need the exercise anyway, and it’s only half an hour.”

Sam sighs and goes to find Riley’s old bluetooth headphones so that Barnes can at least listen to his favorite music while he works.

-----

A broken drain spout floods the yard after a rainstorm, and Barnes asks for permission to fix it up.

Which is why, ten minutes later, Sam is getting a nice view of Barnes’ ass as he stares up at the guy, legs braced against a roofbeam and body angled dangerously out in thin air, clearing out the roof gutters. He’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt to hide his arm, but it’s doing nothing to hide his splendid torso. Sam should really buy Barnes a looser shirt, except then Barnes would know he’d been looking.

“Sam? The roof looks like it needs re-shingling. Can I do that, too?”

Sam wrenches his mind back to more sensible topics. Right. Roofs. “Um… sure? But it’s not like the roof’s dripping or anything.”

Barnes pulls himself into a sitting position with those supersoldier abs, then flips elegantly down to the ground. It’s a two-story drop, but Barnes lands neatly and straightens, pulling into a stretch. His muscles ripple along his torso, all the tension of the morning gone.

Holy shit that’s hot. Sam feels all his blood rushing back southward.

“Sam, I want to. It’d be nice, to do something constructive.” And yeah, Sam can picture Barnes wielding a nail gun and stomping around on his rooftop. All the competence without any of the lethality. Not that different from Barnes’ dedication to cooking, really.

“Sure, go for it.” Riley probably wouldn’t mind. In fact, it’s good that there’s someone else who cares about the house.

Barnes grins, fierce and toothy. Oh boy, those shingles are going to face the wrath of the Winter Soldier.

Soon it seemed like there were new things every week. Shutters and window boxes. A stone path in the backyard. Central air. A fresh coat of paint.

“Wish you were here to see it,” Sam says to Riley. Above him, Barnes turns from his painting and smiles at Sam. The smile is like waking up to the smell of pancakes.

It’s too bad that Steve doesn’t get to see that smile.

--------

One night, Barnes and Sam are on the couch, making their way through season 2 of Avatar: the Last Airbender, when Steve comes in and sits down next to them. Bucky tenses almost imperceptibly, then stretches into a lazy yawn and slides down to the ground, conveniently clearing a space for Steve on the couch.

At the end of the episode, Bucky gets up, and a few minutes later, comes back with a bowl of popcorn, buttered to perfection, and offers it to Steve. When Sam makes a grab for the popcorn before Steve, he gets his hand lightly batted away by Barnes.

"Thanks, Buck." Steve idly stuffs some popcorn in his mouth, eyes still glued to the screen. Barnes sits down on the ground next to Steve's legs, and Steve casually runs a hand through Barnes' hair. Barnes tenses slightly, then leans his head against Steve’s knee.

This is somewhat different from a friendly headlock after a morning run.

"Steve, you're..." Barely two words out, and Sam's got two supersoldiers looking at him -- Steve in idle curiosity and Barnes in tense panic.

"Hmm? What is it, Sam?" On screen, Sokka is trapped in a crack and making petulant noises. Barnes twitches minutely: he’s shaking his head at Sam.

"Nevermind. I’m feeling a bit tired, I'm going to bed." Sam pushes himself up and out of the den.

Barnes had said that he’s okay with it, and Sam needs to respect that, he tells himself for the umpteenth time.

Except that Sam isn’t okay with what it’s doing to Barnes. But that’s *his* problem, right?

What would Riley do?

He wants to go back down, go to Riley’s room and ask him. Except that that’s not Riley’s room anymore, and there’s an earthbending battle happening on TV.

Sam goes to his room and sleeps.

Chapter Text

Sam is circling in midair, desperately looking for something on the ground below. There's smoke and blackened bodies and blood. So much blood. He needs to rescue someone important, but he can't find them. He turns around to ask Riley for help, but Riley's not there. Where is Riley? Is he the thing that Sam's trying to find? No, he's at home, banging around downstairs making breakfast for the latest girlfriend. Meanwhile Sam's still stuck here, circling, trying to complete this mission. He can't wake up from this dream until he finishes it.

Wait, no, this is stupid. He just *said* it was a dream.

Sam opens his eyes.

The clock says 5:15am. Whew. Early but sane-early and not "3am what the fuck" early.

Fucking anxiety dreams. Sam always wakes up from those more tired than he went to sleep. At least this time, Riley was safe at home, which is a fucking relief.

There is the sound of morning banter downstairs, and the smell of coffee.

Sam closes his eyes and indulges himself for a moment, and pretends that it actually *is* Riley downstairs, making coffee before heading out.

For the first time since Barnes and Steve moved in, it doesn't work. By now those noises are registering as distinctively "Barnes." Or rather, the Bucky and Steve morning show.

By the time Sam makes it downstairs, Steve is almost out the door. He's looking particularly cheery today as he says to Bucky, "You know, I can skype Tony from home, maybe keep you company..."

"I told you, Stevie, I gotta keep to my schedule. Helps keep me regular and out of trouble." Barnes gestures at the schedule taped next to the door, where Steve-time now ended at breakfast and started again at dinner. “Plus, your work wife would miss you.”

"Sure sure. See you for dinner, Buck!" Steve pulls Barnes into a hug and a quick peck on the lips.

Oh fuck, that one's new.

Before Sam has a chance to say anything, though, Barnes gently ribs Steve in the arm, Steve shoots Sam a "I love my life right now" look, and disappears out the front door.

Barnes slumps against the counter the moment the door slams closed. Sam wanders down to stand beside him. Show's over.

"Tired?"

Barnes nods. Man, Barnes does NOT look good. Looks like he didn't get a wink of sleep last night.

Then he takes a deep breath, straightens, and starts heading for the kitchen. Sam rushes to follow.

"Hey man, you don't have to make breakfast when you're this tired. I know it's on your schedule and you like having a schedule but how about you let me do it, for once?"

Barnes shrugs, with none of that fake Brooklyn ease from when Steve was here. "I like making food for other people." He wiggles his metal fingers. "You can always bring the extra to work."

Barnes starts up the stove and is soon elbow-deep in batter.

Sam hovers awkwardly and tries to figure out how to broach the subject. He can't exactly come out and say "Please stop this thing with Steve, I don't like it," can he? It makes him sound jealous and possessive. (And sure, sometimes he *does* feel a bit possessive of Barnes -- his small sweet smile, his dedication to improving himself and others, the way he listens… not to mention his eyes that promise shelter in a sandstorm... but that's not the point.)

The point is that it's bad for Barnes. And Steve.

It's been more than two months, and he really needs to say something.

Especially now that Steve's started kissing Barnes.

"You want to talk to me about something." Barnes takes one tray of muffins out of the oven and slides in another one. Sam likes how straightforward Barnes is when Steve's not around. Just gets to the point with no embellishments. Everything pared down to the essentials.

"Yeah. Um... you and Steve… it's not gotten better, huh?"

A small puff of air escapes Barnes. "No. I don't understand. I'm fine when I'm talking to you, but when Steve shows up..."

"The conditioned responses kick in."

Barnes nods. "At least I'm not plotting out all the ways I can kill him." Barnes says it in such a low voice that Sam's not sure if he's trying to reassure Sam or himself.

"But you gotta tell him, Barnes. Look, I get it if you need to code-switch, but this is more than just swapping childhood stories with you. You two, just now..."

"Why do you care?" Barnes asks brusquely, pulling another tray of muffins out of the oven. "What goes on between me and Steve doesn't affect you.” He turns to Sam with a mean snarl. “Can't stand the sight of us cuddling in the front room?"

“Not if you couldn’t say no!” Sam yells. Barnes takes a step back, and the oven door swings shut, the next muffin tin still in his hand. "Barnes … this is NOT you. And it's bad for you.” The Barnes he knows wouldn’t have snarled at Sam just to get him off his back. “You're tense all the time when Steve's around, and that tension is seeping into your non-Steve time, too." Sam casts around for an example, and notices the cup of protein shake on the counter. "Look, ever since you started joining Steve for morning runs, you've been too tired to eat your own cooking in the mornings."

Barnes’s eyes widen.

"Damn right, I noticed." Sam answers his unasked question. "I'm not blind, you know." And then he adds, the words slipping out before he could put a light-hearted spin on it, "You're important to me, Barnes."

They stare at each other for a moment, and Sam wonders if he's blushing as much as Barnes is.

Barnes breaks eye contact first, and hurries to put in the final batch of muffins. “I don’t know whether it’s consensual or not, Sam. When I think about it right now, I know that kissing Steve is something I’d like to do. But when he’s in the room with me…” He shakes his head. “You’re right. I need to tell him. I want to stop lying to him.” Barnes pins Sam with a look of utter loss and devastation. “But when he's *here*, the desire to please him supersedes everything else."

"Hey," Sam says softly. "I want to give you a hug. Can I do that?"

Barnes looks up, his eyes looking a bit moist. "Why are you asking for permission? That's not something people do."

"Because it's your choice, Barnes. It's *always* your choice. Society may think hugs are all right, but you can always say no. And I don't think you've been saying no often enough." Sam finds himself getting a bit carried away, but he's been bottling this up for too long now. "You've been working so hard on getting better, Barnes. And ... I know why you are like that with Steve, but that doesn't make it okay. Thank god you don't have these conditioned responses with me, which makes it *extra important* that you get a say, 'cause in another 10 hours Steve's gonna be back and then you're not Barnes anymore. I respect your choice but it also hurts to see you give yourself up like that..."

Barnes moves suddenly, and Sam finds himself in tight embrace. "Thanks, Sam."

Sam closes his eyes and listens to Barnes' soft breath in his ear. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled."

Unlike Steve, Barnes' shoulder is metallic and hard, and Sam briefly wonders if Barnes'd feel it if Sam laid a kiss there. “I’m sorry about yelling, too.”

Eventually, they disengage. Barnes looking a bit flushed in the face, but calmer. He picks up a muffin and bites into it, and tosses another one to Sam.

"For future reference, you are not Steve, so some touching is acceptable." Barnes’ smile is like the fresh flowers that now adorn the house.

This. This is what Sam needs to protect.

Sam’s dick agrees, and he tells it to shove it by shoving the rest of his muffin into his mouth.

"Seriously, Barnes -- if you don't tell him, I will. You don't want to escalate to serious kissing under the current situation. What if Steve finds out that he's been kissing you under false pretenses?" Barnes' face cycles through surprise, misery, but lands on contemplation. He picks at his muffin for a bit.

"Fine. Let me tell him. Tonight, at dinner." He looks at Sam with beseeching eyes. "But... will you help? I think I can do it, if you're there."

With a nod of permission from Barnes, Sam gives him a quick tap in the arm. "Of course, man. Anything you need."

"Thanks." Barnes gives Sam another one of those small smiles, this one like one of Riley’s date night songs, slow and gentle. They start packing up the rest of the muffins for the VA. (Sam's recently became the reception's favorite person, Cheryl included.) A strand of his hair falls out of his ponytail and Sam finds himself wanting to reach over and tuck it behind Barnes' ear. Maybe Barnes would smile that small smile of his, turn his face toward Sam and ...

Well, Sam knows what he's going to be thinking about on the metro today.

-----

"Wait, let me get this straight: you have the Blond Paragon of Manhood living in your house, and the guy you have the hots for isn't him, but his maybe-ex? Who he just kissed this morning? This mystery guy who first met you by *totaling your car*?"

"Yeah, pretty much." Sam hadn't told Haley the precise circumstances of said car accident, nor the details of his involvement with the giant pile of wreckage they're still clearing out of the Potomac, but she knows the important parts (namely, why he has to take the Metro and why he can’t come to Sunday dinners for a while.)

Haley considers it for a bit. "Okay, (a) are you sure you want to steal Steve's boyfriend, and (b) does that mean I get a shot at Steve?"

"I'm not trying to *steal*..." Oh god, that's what he's doing though, isn't it? Steve's head-over-heels over Barnes. Or at least the version of Barnes that he sees. Haley pegs him with a raised eyebrow.

"Okay, fine, but it's ... complicated. The guy hasn't been completely honest with Steve, and he's agreed to come clean tonight, and after that…." Oh shit, Steve's not going to take it well. Last time Steve found out he had been systematically lied to, he dismantled all of SHIELD and crashed several helicarriers. Sam should be preparing to defuse that instead of thinking about Barnes’ beautiful jawline and the cute way he worries his bottom lip when he’s deep in thought.

"And after that, you want to tell Steve that you want to date his liar of an ex?" Haley is, as ever, the voice of reason.

Yeah, that wouldn't work. By then Steve's heart will already be in pieces, and Barnes might be in shock. Definitely not the time or place.

Sam sighs. He's gotta get his head on straight -- fantasizing is for people who don't have anxiety dreams full of human bodies. "Well, first I got 3 back-to-back sessions. And then... let's see how tonight goes."

Well, worst-case scenario, the two guys go their separate ways and he’s back to having the house by himself and spending Sunday dinners with Riley’s family. He's missed abuelita's arroz con pollo. Things are going to be fine.

Sam almost believes himself.

------

Sam was still giving Bucky pointed looks and surreptitious nudges when Steve spoons some more yellow curry into his bowl and says, "I'm thinking of moving to New York."

Sam shoots a look at Barnes, and finds Barnes looking back, with the same "What the fuck, Steve" mirrored in his eyes.

Steve continues, as if he'd rehearsed this all day (which he probably did), "Tony's trying to set up a more permanent Avengers base in the Stark Tower, especially with what happened with SHIELD. And with the Senate hearings finally over, there’s really not much left to do in DC.” Steve shoots Bucky a look, and Bucky, of course, quirks a nonchalant eyebrow. “I was originally planning to travel around with Sam to look for you, but you found us first.”

Bucky chuckles. “Well, imagine all the trouble you would have gotten into if I left you alone any longer! Remember that summer that I spent in Indiana? Came back and found you with two black eyes and a broken rib.”

“Yeah, I remember. The O’Blum brothers did give Suzie her money back, though.” Steve’s eyes turn soft. “C’mon, Buck. Wanna go back to New York? We can probably get our old place back."

The words coming out of Barnes' mouth doesn't match the panic in his eyes. "Of course, Stevie. Who else is gonna drag you *out* of back alley fights?"

“Oh, that’s great, Buck! I can’t wait to introduce you to Tony!” Steve beams and leans in for a quick peck on Bucky’s cheek.

That's it. Sam's had enough.

"Steve, Bucky's not as recovered as you think he is. He’s been... " Steve directs that earnest beseeching look at Sam and suddenly Sam remembers how hard it is to say no to Steve Rogers, even without HYDRA conditioning.

"I know Bucky's not 100%, Sam. That's actually one of the reasons I'm thinking of moving to New York -- sometimes he looks so tense and anxious, I figured being home would help with that." Steve takes Bucky’s hands into his own and looks fondly into Bucky’s eyes. “Whatever you need to get better, Buck.”

So Steve's noticed, after all.

Then Steve turns back to Sam. “And, Sam… I know this is a lot to ask of you, but …” Steve’s face does the thing, where he really wants something, but doesn’t feel like he deserves it. "I'd really like it if you'd join us in New York."

Fuck. The house seems to balloon around him, and for a moment, he was standing back in the empty room with the half-unpacked boxes again. Steve’s still jabbering on about the Avengers and Stark making Sam some new wings or something, but Sam only manages to croak out, "I can't leave, Steve.” Alpha. Bravo. Charlie. “I've got a job here, a house, friends ..." Riley, all of his exuberance reduced to bare bones in a grave. Delta. Echo.

“But aren't the bulk of your family in Harlem?” Steve looks confused. “And there's VAs in New York, too. Tony says he can help smooth the transition, which I think means he'll donate a bunch of money... and don't worry, Avengers isn't a full time thing -- probably just a few hours' training a week.” Steve reaches out to grab Sam’s shoulder. “I want good people at my side, Sam."

Shit. Last time Captain America asked him to help, Sam broke into a military base to steal highly classified technology so that he could charge into bullets and shoot at giant laser airships in midair. Sam wants to help other people, he swore a fucking oath for that, and if he follows Steve, he can...

But this won't be temporary, this would be *moving*. Steve seems to be saying something more, but all Sam can hear is Riley, bubbling with excitement as he signed the deed. "Sam, this is the real deal! Moving in together, finally!" Where Riley went, Sam followed. And now. And now.

"Steve." Barnes' voice cuts through all the noise in Sam's head.

Steve looks back at Barnes, who is biting his lip so hard it’s leaving bruises.

"I... I want to stay here." Barnes' voice is shaking, and he's staring at Steve's shoulder instead of looking him in the eye, but the words are out. And somehow that breaks the spell on Sam, as well. He reaches across the table and holds Barnes’ hand. He feels a small answering squeeze.

Steve is looking between the two of them in utter confusion. "But Buck, you just said that you're coming..." Barnes responds by scrunching his eyes closed and shaking his head violently side to side.

"Buck, what's wrong? Are you okay?" Steve pulls Barnes into a hug, but this time, instead of leaning into it, Barnes stays tense. “Bucky? Please. Talk to me.”

Sam tightens his grip on Barnes’ hand. “Steve, let him go. ” Steve releases his hold immediately, and Barnes breathes an audible sigh of relief.

“What’s going on here, Bucky?” Steve eyes the hand that’s still in Sam’s grip, and frowns. “This isn’t just about New York, is it?”

Barnes turns his head away from Steve's worried face and opens his eyes to lock them on Sam. "I haven't been okay, Steve."

"Bucky... why won't you look at me? Why won’t you let me touch you?"

Barnes heaves a sigh, and his shoulders slump forward. "I can't, not right now. Not if I want to tell you.... HYDRA -- they picked all of my handlers to look like you. So when I see you..."

"You see a handler," Steve croaks. "Someone you have to obey."

Barnes nods. "It's easier to say no when I don't look at you."

"God, you've never once said no to me, have you?" Steve's voice is dripping with dawning horror. And then, desperately, "But you have your memories. You laugh and talk like normal, everything seemed fine ..."

A soft, bitter laugh. "There is more than one way to please a handler, Steve."

Steve pushes himself away from Barnes so fast he sweeps half of dinner with him. "Bucky, why didn't you tell me? If I knew I wouldn't have..."

Barnes' entire body is shaking with effort. "I couldn't." He closes his eyes again, and grips Sam tighter. "This is why I can't go to New York with you, Steve. Not when I can't look at you and say no at the same time."

Sam reaches his other hand across the table of upended roti toward Steve. "Give him more time, Steve." Barnes nods and the barest of a smile cross his lips, so Sam continues. "He doesn't do the handler thing with me, and I've seen him improve so much over the last month, when you weren't around. He's really trying, and he'll get there."

Steve takes a long look at Bucky's tense form, and shakes his head. "I’m hurting you, Bucky. I’ve been hurting you all this time. And if I didn’t push you to move, you wouldn’t even have told me. How far were you planning to let it go? Just pretend that everything’s fine for the rest of our lives? While hating me for being a handler?”

Barnes shakes his head again, and manages to grit out, "I’ve been trying. And I don’t hate you, Steve."

Sam tries to translate. "Look, Barnes is here because he wants to be with you. This is why the schedule exists, why he’s been trying to get better all this time. He made the decision to stay, all those months ago, and also to see you every day, because he wants to make it work. He wants to break the conditioning."

Barnes nods forcefully. He has his eyes closed, so he doesn’t see the way Steve shudders and push all those feelings down again.

When Steve stands up again, he sounds almost normal. "All right. Thank you for telling me this, Buck. You’ve given me a lot to think about. I… I’ll see you tomorrow."

The spilled curry drips down the table as Steve's heavy treads retreat into his room.

Finally, Sam lets go of Barnes’s hand and slumps back into his chair. Fuck. He’s going to have so many stress dreams tonight.

Chapter Text

It's 1am but Sam's still too full of nervous energy from the evening to sleep properly, so he's just playing some mindless swiping game when he hears a soft knock on Sam's bedroom door. Metal on wood. Sam opens the door to find Barnes there, in a soft black t-shirt and pants.

"Hey Barnes. What's up?" Don't think about how cute he looks. Keep it together, Sam.

Barnes makes a face. "Steve doesn't own the sole right to call me Bucky, you know. Especially now that, well..." Barnes makes a noncommittal gesture at the darkened stairs, then turns back to Sam. "Hopefully I'll just be ... me."

Sam smiles. "All right, Bucky. Can't sleep, either?"

Bucky shifts and looks down at his hands. Standing in the doorway is, in Sam's experience, the most awkward place to have a conversation, even worse than in a collapsing building, so he steps aside and lets Bucky in.

Bucky promptly directs his nervous energy at the pile of books that occupied half of Sam’s overly-large bed. "Yeah... I wanted to say thank you, Sam."

"Um, I think I'm the one who needs to thank *you* ... if you didn't say something, we'd probably both be packing for New York right now." Sam can’t help but let his pride show as he grins at Bucky. "I can't believe you were able to do it, though! I think you said 'no' to Steve, like, three times!"

A small satisfied smile appears on Bucky’s face. "Twice. But I couldn't do it when it's just me. This house, this place... it's important to you. And thinking about protecting that, doing that for you -- that’s what gave me the energy to say no to Steve." Barnes turns to look Sam in the eyes. "You’re important to me, too, Sam."

This gentle man, who is working so hard, who just wants to make something good with his hands, who cares so much about other people.

Sam finally puts a name to this feeling that's welling up in his chest. Oh. Well then. If that's what it is, then Sam knows what he should do next.

"Bucky, I'd like to kiss you. Gently, on the lips, with no tongue. Is that okay? You'd stop me if you don't like it, right?"

Bucky flushes red, but he nods. "Yes, I can say no to you. And yes, I'd like to try it."

Sam steps up, leans in, and does just that: a small, simple kiss, just the merest brush of lips. He thinks about Barnes’ steady gray eyes, his small smiles that have grown more confident in the past month, the way he wrinkles his brow in concentration, and bobs his head to music as he works. He thinks about finding a safe haven in a sandstorm.

There is a light puff of breath as Bucky gently pulls away.

Before Sam could pull back and apologize, however, he feels a firm metal hand on his shoulder. "Sam, can we ... do more?" Barnes is smiling at him, cheeks flushed.

"Of course. Anything you want."

On the third kiss, Sam feels a wet touch of tongue against his lips, hesitant, exploratory, so Sam smiles and welcomes Bucky in.

Bucky tastes like all of his smiles combined.

(potofsoup)

-----------

There's someone on Sam's bed.

Sam is halfway out the bed before he remembers last night.

He turns over and Bucky is, of course, awake and quietly watching Sam.

"Sooo.... that happened."

"Yes."

"Just to confirm: first we told Captain America that we’re not moving to New York, which is by most counts, a far superior city. Then later we celebrated by kissing and cuddling, and then we fell asleep on the same bed." The pile of books on Sam's bed was no match for Bucky.

"Yes."

"It was amazing for me. Was it good for you?"

A smile. "Yes."

Sam throws himself back onto the bed, and eyes the books that are now scattered abouth the floor. “Y’know, Riley made me buy this big bed when we were moving in. He told me it was my twin-sized mattress that was keeping me single and celibate.”

Bucky snorts. “I had a twin bed back before the war and I was neither of the two.” He stretches and sits up. “This *is* a nice bed, though. In fact, I think that's the first time I slept through the night since..." He scrunches his face. "well, 1943, probably."

"Well, it’s because I switched to a firmer mattress. There can’t possibly be any other reason." Sam replies glibly. Best not to dwell on the implications of 1943. The morning is too glorious to ruin that way.

Bucky grows thoughtful, and a bit of mission report slips into his voice. "It's the release of the two major stress factors in recent memory: one, the fact that my body is not my own when Steve is around, and two," Bucky turns and smiles fondly at Sam, "the fact that I cared for you and had no way to express it outside the realm of breakfast goods and home improvements."

Sam can live for that smile. Heck, he can probably even *move* for that smile. Instead he leans in and kisses Barnes again, with tongue. Barnes tastes sweet and warm, like a lazy Saturday morning. It makes Sam want to spoil him rotten.

Sam checks the clock. 7am. Steve's probably out punching something already, but Sam's first session doesn't start until 10am. Perfect.

He makes a point of casually stretching and lazily going to the dresser to pull on a red t-shirt and some pants. Then, he makes sure he's standing by the door before he says, "Wanna make breakfast? First one downstairs gets to make the pancakes."

Bucky grins and is leaping out of the bed, but Sam had already positioned himself, so he's the first one down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"A ha!" He crows. "Finally, my turn!"

Bucky chuckles from behind him. "Let me at least chop some pecans." And Sam gets the feeling that Bucky let him win. Oh well, he'll take it.

They spend the next few minutes in companionable silence, working around each other in the kitchen. It feels ... good. Not like the overt theatrical noises that happen when Steve and Bucky did their morning run routine. This was just him and Bucky, in their kitchen. Sam looks around: he's using Bucky's mixing bowl and pouring batter into one of Riley's good pans, stirring with a wooden spoon that just appeared into the drawer one day. Bucky has slowly replaced all of the kitchen knives with ones that are up to his standards, and is chopping with one of them. Sam can't help smiling: it really is *their* kitchen.

When Bucky reaches over to drop the pecans in the batter, somehow his arms end up around Sam's waist.

(artwork by grainnemhaolx, found here).

Sam's focused on flipping the pancake, but still manages a, "Was this just a lame excuse to grope me?"

"Mmmm, what do you think?" Bucky’s voice is muffled as he buries his face in Sam’s shoulder.

"Are you... nibbling my shoulder?"

"Well, I'm hungry. Cook faster."

Sam elbows Bucky in the gut before he could snake his cold arm further up Sam's shirt. "I *would*, if I weren't so distracted. And since when did you get this sass?"

Bucky chuckles and disentangles. "Found it last night under your blankets. I wasn't kidding about the sleep thing."

A thought suddenly occurs to Sam. "Would Steve be okay with this? I thought you and Steve were..."

"We were, but I still can't say no to him, despite 2 months of trying, and *someone* convinced me it was a bad idea to get involved as-is."

Sam hums. "But if that weren't a problem? I mean, eventually, you'll get there, right?" Sam reaches back and feeds a bit of pancake to Bucky, who stays clasped to Sam's waist.

Bucky takes his time chewing. "I... I don't know, Sam."

Sam shrugged. "Hey, do what feels right to you. I don't mind sharing. Or being the third. There's been a couple times when Haley would be dating a cute guy who and wanted a third, so I know how that goes."

Bucky grows quiet. "You're important to me, Sam. I do things for you because I want to, because I care about you, and ... I'd forgotten that I could do that until you came along. That there are reasons to do things beyond selfish fears and desires. You've made me remember how to be human, and no one can top that. But Steve, he's ..."

There is what sounds suspiciously like a choked-off sob accompanied by a thump emanating from the den. Bucky freezes and a look of sheer panic crosses his face. There's only one thing that could be. Sam lays a reassuring hand on Bucky's arm, and calls out, "Steve? Is that you? We thought you were out." Sam gives Bucky's arm a squeeze, and Bucky nods back with a determined look. "You should come join us, Steve. I've got enough pancakes to spare."

For a moment, nothing happens. And then a supersoldier unfolds himself from behind the TV console. "Wow, even *I* get stuck behind there, this must be the power of your tiny butt." Sam couldn't help it, and he hears a small huff of silent laughter beside him. Good: Buck is still with him. He gives Bucky's arm another reassuring squeeze as he turns his attention back to Steve, who is hovering awkwardly by the kitchen entry, looking like 200 lbs of pure misery.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have hid, but you said Bucky was different when I wasn't around, and I wanted to hear for myself." Steve turns to Bucky, who froze as soon as Steve started speaking. Steve says with a small, sad smile, "You sound great, Bucky."

Even with his eyes glued to Sam’s shoulder, Bucky manages a sad smile of his own. “Thanks, Steve. I’m sorry about lying to you.”

Steve reaches out, as if to touch Bucky, but pulls himself back so violently he takes a step back. “No, that’s not you, that’s HYDRA’s fault. And mine." He looks back and forth between Sam and Bucky, and settles his eyes on the hand that Sam has on Bucky's shoulder. "I’ve made things worse, and it doesn’t make sense for me to stay here and make you perform for me, not when you have Sam.” Steve looks away, and the next words sound suspiciously like giving up. "I'll go to New York, leave you two alone."

Sam wants to go over and do *something* to snap Steve out of his martyrdom, but he needs to keep a tight grip on Bucky, whose whole body is going through.... something, right now. And between the two of them -- Bucky is the bigger priority.

Which is why the two of them stay in the kitchen and Sam watches as Steve walks back into his room, and emerge not long after with his shield and his backpack. A small part of Sam winces at how little Steve has, compared to Bucky, whose stuff is in every corner of the house. He’s been so focused on Bucky these last months that he’s been completely neglecting Steve.

At the door, Steve turns around and says, "Bucky, you know I love you no matter what, right? I know it’s a conditioned response, but you don't *ever* have to be a specific way for me. If... if you ever feel well enough, and find yourself visiting New York...."

"Stop being an idiot, Steve," Sam's words have barely come out of his mouth when he feels Bucky leap into action.

When the Winter Soldier moves, not even Captain America can react fast enough.

"Listen to Sam." Bucky says quietly from the other side of Steve, resolutely blocking the door.

At the same time, Sam steps up and grabs Steve in a bear hug. "Steve, stop it. Just... stop for a moment and *listen*, all right?"

Steve breaks free of Sam and turns back towards the door, towards Bucky. "But I’ve been *hurting* him!"

Sam renews his grip around Steve, and yells, "Bucky, little help here holding down Captain Self Repression, buddy?"

Bucky wraps his arms around Steve the other way, the metal arm locking resolutely around Steve’s chest.

(potofsoup)

Slowly, slowly, Steve stills under the two of them.

Sam tries again. "We told you to give Bucky time, Steve. To stay. You're not very good at following directions, are you?"

Bucky chuckles. "He's never been good at that, Sam."

Steve’s head jerks up at Barnes' words. "Bucky, you're... being yourself!"

Bucky seems to register it at the same time. He hums and considers. "Sam being here helps, just like last night. And...all the stuff you just said, about loving me no matter what-- I think that helped, too."

Bucky directs a small smile at the both of them, and it is the most beautiful thing Sam has ever seen.

Finally, Steve stirs. Gently leans his head on Bucky's shoulder. There's a thunk as his backpack drops to the floor. "Thank you, Sam."

Sam feels 200 lbs of supersoldier finally relax under his grip.

(potofsoup)

Chapter Text

It gets better. Much, much, better.

Bucky moves out of the garage and converts the place into an obstacle course for super-soldiers.

Sam suddenly gets a new human-shaped furnace in his bed, with a metal arm to spread the heat around. Some nights, when Bucky is feeling up to it, or when Steve looks like he really needs it, it becomes a bed for three. Those are the nights when Sam's super glad that Riley made him get the extra sturdy frame.

-------

"Sam! You're supposed to give us some warning before bringing Captain America to our Fourth of July party!" The tongs in Abuelita Julieta's hands suddenly look very menacing. Maybe that drumstick she's holding is still hot from the grill.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, it's my fault -- I had a speaking engagement cancel last minute and Sam'd been talking up your party so much ... I hope it's all right?" Abuelita peers at Steve, who is doing his best to look earnest and helpful. The tongs are lowered, and Steve gets ushered away to try the 14 different meats.

Bucky goes to unpack the cupcakes he brought.

Haley grabs one, then sidles up and pokes Sam in the side. "Hey, who's the other hottie? Dressed a bit warm for July, but I’m kind of digging the unshaven hobo thing. Is he up for grabs? Don't tell me he is Steve’s Tragic Ex-boyfriend."

"Well, technically he's now my Mostly Well-Adjusted Current Boyfriend. It takes two of us to keep Steve out of trouble."

"Wait.... you're shitting me." Haley almost chokes on her cupcake.

"Yup. You were right about the stars and stripes thing. *Lots* of stripes."

Sam almost gets red-white-and-blue cupcake frosting in his face.

-----------

Bucky’s work on their house attracts some friendly queries, and suddenly he’s patching roofs and adding patios all around the neighborhood. He buys a van and Steve designs a logo for JBB Construction.

He comes home smelling of sweat and spackling and that goes straight to Sam’s dick.

"Talk dirty to me." Sam'd croon, and Bucky'd laugh and talk about finding old newspaper in musty crawlspaces.

Steve is off on Avengers things half the week, but always makes it home for dinner.

Sam still has the VA, Haley, and the rest of his D.C. family, but now he’s also got people to come home to. It’s pretty much perfect.

----------

Sam is happily sandwiched between two warm supersoliders, about to drift off to sleep, when his phone and Steve's phone starts ringing almost simultaneously.

"Sam, you need to get out of there, now." Haley's voice comes across strained over the phone. "Before the news vans arrive in the morning. We can hide you for a while."

"What?"

"Look up 'Falcon' on Youtube."

He doesn't have to type in Falcon, because there it is on the front page for trending videos: "Falcon revealed: Flying high on stolen Military Technology." It starts with a shot of him flying around the second helicarrier, then a voice starts intoning "Who is this man? Is he HYDRA? Why is he using classified military technology?" Then comes photos and blueprints of his wingpack, a bunch of theories about his affiliations and motives, and then: recent photos of him, and his full name and former rank. Shit. A million views since 3 hours ago. Comments underneath run the gamut of "Fuck yeah black superhero!" to "This thug stole classified government technology, he belongs in jail!" and "He's clearly HYDRA planted inside the air force! We are all compromised!"

"Sam?" Finally he realizes that someone is touching his shoulder. And a metal hand closes his laptop.

Now it's his turn to be enveloped by two super soldiers. Alpha. Bravo. Charlie. Delta. Sam heaves a sigh. "Haley called. Said we should go over to her place before the internet finds out where I live."

"Don't worry, Tony's on it. He's already scrubbed all the digital records that contain your address, which should buy us until morning, at least.”

Sam nods. It makes sense that Stark would be on top of this. Really nice of him, though, since Sam’s part of the reason why Steve’s been telecommuting. “Please tell Stark that I said thank you. He really didn’t have to.”

“It’s Tony, he’s good people.” Steve hesitates, then continues. “He said that if you joined the Avengers, he can have his team legitimize everything and claim that you were acting on his behalf, and release wing designs that show them to be Stark technology. Since that would involve moving to New York, I told him we can’t. Said he's going to call back with an alternative plan."

Just then, Steve's phone rings again. Steve taps and flicks and suddenly Tony Stark is staring at the three of them in a blue hologram.

"Whoa, Cap, warn a guy before you invite him into the bedroom next time!"

"I'm wearing a shirt," Bucky points out at the same time that Sam and Steve apologize. And with that Stark was off: "And more's the pity, I want to see that beaut -- how many distinct plates are there? JARVIS can you do an image analysis and extrapolate some potential three-dimensional models? Where does it draw power from? Pity you aren't coming up to New York -- maybe I can fly down, that'd only take, what, 15 minutes? JARVIS, draw up a flight path to DC... are you SURE you three don't want to move into the Avengers tower? It'd save Grandpa Cap from having to phone it in all the time, *and* I'd get to see that in person, ah forget it, let me just fly over... JARVIS!"

"Tony. Sam's thing." Steve seems completely unfazed by Stark's prattle, and Sam suddenly finds himself at the laser center of Stark’s focus.

"Ah, yes. Sorry. Talked to Rhodey, he said that if Wilson rejoins the Air Force, he can also set things up on his end -- at least make it so that Wilson's use of the EXO wings was authorized, and probably figure out a way to keep him in DC, though he'd have to be some boring liaison to the President or something. Or Wilson and Barnes can go take an international vacation for a year or two while..."

"No," they say in unison, and ... fuck yeah, Sam knew he wasn't gonna leave his boys, but good to know that they weren't leaving him, either.

Steve looks at Sam. "Well, the Air Force thing would let Sam stay in DC -- it's less than ideal, but I know staying here is important to you, so..."

Sam thinks. About his life in pararescue. Riley who died so that others may live. The way his house has slowly filled up with pancakes and hugs and supersoldier shenanigans over the last few months. Filled up with *living**. He thinks about the youtube comments where, amidst the outrage and the personal disgust disguised as proclamations of universal truth, there was also the excitement around having a black superhero. He thinks about him and Riley, bonding over their admiration for Captain America back in college.

"You know what, I think I'm okay with moving."

He looks over at Bucky. Bucky smiles at him, and nods.

"I think the three of us are getting a little too big for this place, anyway."