Chapter Text
Bucky Barnes was a solid guy; tall and imposing, even without the arm. Sam knew what he was capable of, he'd seen and experienced how deadly the ex-Hydra assassin could be, ripping the Falcon wing off in DC as if Sam were just an irritating fly who was getting in the way.
So Sam was skeptical when Barnes stood before him now, managing to look both uncomfortable and annoyed at the same time.
"I'm sorry for trying to kill you," he stated in an almost bored manner, shrugging both his shoulders slightly, leaning back against the bench in the jet.
Sam only raised an eyebrow at him, trying to hide his disbelieving expression.
Barnes looked like shit. The lower half of his face was smeared with dried blood which was slowly turning a sickly brown colour, and while it looked like he'd tried to wipe it off, Sam could tell he hadn't really cared if he'd been effective or not. The guy had probably been covered in so much blood since the 40s, that it must've felt like a second skin to him now. The thought made Sam even more uncomfortable than he already was.
"Uh huh," was all Sam managed, not hiding his skepticism.
Barnes sighed, his lips pressing in a firm line while his eyes scanned the jet. Steve was piloting up front with Clint next to him, Wanda was standing off to the side with her arms wrapped firmly around herself. Sam had tried to talk to her earlier as they flew away from The Raft, but it was clear she wanted her space. He’d simply told her that if there was anything she needed to just let him know, and she’d smiled wryly at him with red-rimmed eyes and told him that she would be fine.
Scott was asleep somewhere in the back, so Sam had no-one to share this awkward moment with.
“I’m guessing Steve told you to apologise to me?” Sam finally answered, mirroring Barnes’s pose across the jet. They had a cargo load between them, so Sam felt a little braver, not just from the ex-assassin, but also from the situation. He was sure that Steve could hear them, the guy had crazy good hearing, and he was also sure that if he said something too mean, he’d earn one of Roger’s famous disappointed looks.
Barnes shook his head, his dark, blood-matted hair shaking slightly with the movement. The guy really needed a shower. And for someone to look at that arm, Sam swore he saw it sparking earlier.
“Nah, he didn’t”, Barnes’s answered with another look in Roger’s direction, “just thought I should say it.” He went to cross his arms, but remembered that he couldn’t do that anymore, so he just let his right arm hang back down at his side awkwardly. Sam nearly laughed at his uncertainty, but he knew he’d definitely get a disappointed look from Steve if he did that, so he turned it into a snort.
“Wait, which time? There have been a few, one of them in the last week.”
“Yeah, all of them, I guess. I can’t remember the one in Vienna, that one’s a blank at the moment,” Barnes answered and Sam snorted again. He definitely remembered it; he still had the faint bruising under his jaw in the shape of the man’s now missing metal fingers. He saw Barnes’s eyes flick to Sam’s neck quickly, and then away, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something, but then deciding against it and looking towards the cockpit again.
“It coming back though,” he said quietly, “that memory, I think. I can sort of remember doing that, and a few other things.” He jerked his chin to Sam, but didn’t look at him. Sam could see him getting tenser, his posture straightening and his only fist clenching against the metal bench.
Sam knew this was messy territory, and from what Steve had briefly mentioned, it had been a taxing experience on the both of them with Stark in Siberia. Both Steve and Bucky’s uniforms were ripped and trashed, and they were both covered in god knows what. Barnes was tired, and from what Sam could tell from his looks towards Steve, he obviously felt very guilty, but not being quite sure what to do about it, he was doing his best to make amends through a very awkward forced apology to Sam.
Sam decided to brush it off, defusing the tension and giving Barnes a chance to back out of the conversation. But he also definitely did not want to let the whole thing slide just yet.
“Sure, sure,” Sam said in a yawn. He hopped up on the bench he was leaning, lying down against it and propping his arms up underneath his head as a pillow. “Just know that you owe me a new car, I’d only just paid that one off.”
He let his eyes fall closed and Bucky didn’t say anything, so Sam continued. “You know, the one? You ripped the steering wheel right out through the windshield?” No answer. “While me, Steve, and Nat were inside and you were apparently wave surfing on the roof?”
There was still no answer, so Sam turned his head to the side and cracked an eye open to look at Bucky. He was no longer clenching the bench with his hand, but was looking straight at Sam. He looked almost thoughtful as he stared, and then the faint ghost of a smile crossed his face.
“No I don’t think I remember that, but I hope it comes back to me, because the way I’m imagining it is pretty funny.” He sounded almost like a normal person then, so Sam threw his hands up in exasperation.
“Well it wasn’t funny,” Sam almost yelled, “I’d just had that car cleaned like the day before too!” Bucky shrugged unevenly and went back to looking slightly annoyed, but a bit more relaxed for someone soaked in old blood could look.
“Okay, well sorry for that one too, I guess.” He didn’t sound sorry.
“You know you’re really shitty at apologies?” Sam snapped back.
“Outta practice.” He replied.
“Are you two BFF’s playing nice?” Clint called from the cockpit and Sam threw an arm over his face, doing his best to block the rising sun out of his eyes.
“I’m always nice,” Sam muttered back quietly, knowing that Clint wouldn’t have been able to hear him.
Bucky heard though, and he snorted so loudly that every single person in the jet turned to stare at him.
Bucky only shrugged.