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Bucky doesn’t know how much longer he can handle the nightmares. Making amends doesn’t help, going to therapy, being forced to talk or be met with writing as the silence stretches on is unbearable. The last piece of family he had, Steve, left him to be with the love of his life.
It doesn’t surprise him, Steve deserved the world, was a brother to him, and he’s happy for him. It just leaves him with no one and not wanting to get close to anyone in case they leave him for something better too. He wouldn’t blame them either, he’s not worth much.
And he knows that’s not fair. Sam has been trying to reach out, check in, to make sure that he’s doing okay. It’s just, Bucky doesn’t deserve him either. Every text is left ignored, every phone call gone straight to voicemail and then deleted if Sam does leave one.
He’s better off alone, away from anyone. He doesn’t want to fight any more. Doesn’t want to cause any more pain or be left behind for another seventy years.
Finding himself riddled with exhaustion, pushing sleep off for as long as he can, Bucky settles down onto the blanket and pillow he has set up on his living room floor, the bed in the bedroom too soft and unfamiliar. Sitting up in the dark, nothing but the soft glow of the muted TV to provide him company, he stares off and tries to fight the sleep that claws at him.
He lasts another hour and forty six minutes before being awake for nearly three days straight takes over and he falls into a fitful sleep. It’s another two hours and seventeen minutes before the nightmares plague him.
This is one he’s had once before, instead of old ghosts haunting him, of the torture he’s suffered through, of falling from the train, of losing Steve, his lifeline to his old life - it’s of Sam, and how he loses him too.
A startled scream clawing its way out of his throat, sitting up in the near dark and feeling his heart nearly exploding his chest, he digs his right palm into his eyes, biting back the sob that threatens to break free. He doesn’t even remember what the dream consisted of, except that out of anyone he knows, Sam is the last person he has left, and he loses him as he falls back into the programming Hydra has over him.
He knows that’s not possible, that Shuri was able to help him, but it doesn’t make the dream any less real. Any less terrifying.
Trying to catch his breath, throwing the thin blanket off of him as he searches for his phone and hears it clatter across the floor, another sob breaks out of him as he crawls on shaky limbs to find it.
Lifting it with trembling fingers, running his left through his short hair, he doesn’t rationalize what he’s doing, of knowing that this is a bad idea and he’ll regret it at a later hour. He hits the call button for the contact before he sucks in a breath and begins to hold it as he waits.
Listening as the line rings, breath still escaping him, he almost hangs up as the third ring begins to sound and still no answer comes, feeling stupid at trying to call in the middle of the night and expecting an answer. Pulling the phone away from his ear, going to end the call, his heart all but stops as he hears a gruff and quiet, “Hello?”
Hand tightening around his phone as he brings it back, breath escaping him harshly, a choking sound as a rustling on the other end of the line sounds and a voice clears, “Bucky? Bucky, what’s wrong?”
God he hadn’t known how badly he had needed to hear Sam’s voice. To know that it was just a dream, that it wasn’t real. To know that he wasn’t truly alone in this world.
Now that the panic of the unknown leaves him, his breaths begin to back up on him as he tries to catch it. This was a bad idea, he shouldn’t have called. As nothing but huffs of air leave him, he listens as Sam tries to tell him to breathe with him. “Breathe with me, Bucky, that’s good, in and out. In and out.”
By the time his breath does come easier, Bucky is exhausted and is slumped heavily against his living room wall, head buried in his knees as he listens to Sam continue to soothe him. “Bucky, it's alright, just a nightmare. You’re okay. I’m here, not going anywhere.”
He isn’t sure how long has passed before a silence has settled between them, Sam’s voice having filtered away. It almost startled him nearly two minutes later when after he had thought that Sam had hung up, decided he wasn’t worth tending to in the middle of the night that his soft voice sounds in his ear, “Bucky, are you okay? Want to talk about it?”
He doesn’t know where he finds his own voice, one that sounds more detached and unlike his, more like the soldier’s when he answers with a, “No. I’m fine. Sorry for waking you.” Before he hangs up, hand moving of its own accord and disconnecting the call as he hears Sam try to stop him, his plea being cut off.
He ignores the next few calls, dropping his phone beside him and pulling his knees closer to his chest in a defensive motion. Eventually the calls stop, after three he stopped counting, but then the texts start coming through too. Bucky continues to ignore them until they stop another twenty minutes later, an ache forming in his chest at having worried Sam and having cut off the communication that he’d reached out for.
It’s for the best, he thinks, Sam doesn’t need this. Taking in a shaky breath and running his right hand through his hair as he closes his eyes, leaning back against the wall, another voice, one that Bucky tries to ignore, speaks up. You know that’s not true. He cares about you. You’re the one who’s not reaching out back.
“Yeah right.” Bucky mutters, voice cracking as he tries to ignore the lingering voices in his head. He isn’t sure how much longer he sits there before the light in the room begins to brighten as light from the window in his bedroom streams from down the hall.
With the rise of the sun, Bucky scrubs at his face for another moment before he pushes himself to his feet, telling himself that he’s made it through another night and can use that as an excuse to get on with his day.
Shuffling to his kitchen, starting a pot of coffee and leaning heavily against his counter as he waits, he’s too wrapped up in his thoughts as a knock from his door sounds. Stiffening as he reaches for a kitchen knife, ducking down behind the counter he was leaning on.
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t breathe, hoping that the person had the wrong door. Because if anyone was actually here for him? Well, that’d lead to problems.
Listening carefully as no footsteps register, he tightens the grip on the knife further as a second knock sounds, muscles tensed as he prepares to head for the door or just leave.
“Bucky? It’s Sam. Open up, man. Come on.”
Tension still running through him, Bucky grits his teeth as he curses softly, rolling to his feet and heading towards the door, knife still protectively in his hand. Slowing as he reaches the door, he remains silent as he stops, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as he listens to see if Sam will just leave.
“Bucky, don’t do this. Don’t do this, anymore.” Sam murmurs as he knocks again, more rapidly this time before he attempts to open the door, finding it locked.
Gasping out a wet sound, whether a growl or a grated chuckle he’s not sure, he glances towards the ceiling as he gives in and answers back with a soft, “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I had to make sure you were okay.”
Another sound catching in his throat, Bucky sighs heavily as he doesn’t say anything else. Closing his eyes and placing his forehead against the door, he fights back the tiredness that wants to envelope him, the shake in his shoulders the compromise for keeping back the tears that threaten to fall.
“Bucky. Please. Can I come in?” Sam asks as he comes to realize that Bucky isn’t going to say anything else.
Unable to fight the voice in his head screaming at him to let him in, to get the apology for wasting Sam’s time over with, he takes a step back and unlocks his door before backing away further into his apartment without another word.
Sam must have heard the door unlock, because a moment later he’s letting himself in and his eyes immediately find Bucky as he glances up at him before leaning back on the counter, knife placed beside him and abandoned.
“Bucky.” Sam murmurs, his voice sounding just as devastated as he feels. Glancing back up at Sam before stiffening and turning his back towards him, he shrugs his shoulders lightly as he fights against the lump in his throat.
“‘M fine. ‘M fine and I’m sorry that I caused you to worry. It won’t happen again.” Bucky breathes, voice barely more than a whisper.
He knows that Sam walks towards him, stops beside him in the kitchen, but he still shivers as a hand lands on his bare shoulder before rising up to his neck in a protective, reassuring gesture.
“Bucky. You don’t have to be sorry, but you can’t do this again. I need to know that you’re okay. That you’re taking care of yourself. You’re one of the few people I have left too, y’know.”
Bucky isn’t sure when he turns to face Sam, but as he finishes talking, Bucky is fighting to put a smile on his face, to cover up the ache and devastation warring within him.
“‘M fine, Sam. Promise.” He insists, but Sam doesn’t seem to buy it as his eyes search his and he’s taking a step closer and moving his hand back down to squeeze at his arm.
“You don’t have to be ‘fine’. Just know that you don’t have to deal with all of this alone. I know you think that you’re alone, that no one needs you. But you’re wrong. You’re not alone, you have me, and I need you.” Sam promises softly before he pulls Bucky into a fierce hug as his smile breaks.
“I’d thought I’d lost you. Thought you wouldn’t want to deal with me and all the shit that’s happened. Thought I wasn’t worth it to you.” Bucky murmurs as he buries his face into the crook of Sam’s neck, a hand rubbing up and down his back reassuringly.
“You’re wrong. I do need you, and that’s just selfish. You’re not worthy of me? Hell, I’m the one who’s probably not worthy of you.”
Bucky hums a strained noise as he buries his face closer, holding onto Sam tighter as a silence falls over them. He isn’t sure how long they stand there, the tremors and tears fading away as exhaustion takes over him, and Sam’s arms tight around him, one hand stroking his hair.
“You can’t do this again. I need you, Buck. I know you’re sorry, but fuck… I thought I lost you too.” Sam whispers, a sadness in his voice that rivals Bucky’s own. Bucky also can’t miss the way his heart flutters at the sound of the nickname coming out of Sam’s mouth, a warmth settling in him over the cold dread that lingers in his chest.
“Okay… okay, ‘promise Sammy. I promise.” Bucky sighs, eyes closing as he breathes in the other man, who nods lightly and continues to pet his hair.
“Okay. Now, another thing.”
Bucky hums softly in questioning, exhaustion slamming him the more he leans into the warmth of Sam’s embrace.
“When was the last time you slept, huh?”
Groaning at that, Bucky pulls away a frown creasing his face as he turns towards the coffee maker, wrapping his arms around himself defensively. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be okay, got coffee.”
As he’s going to make them each a mug, hands unsteady as he does, he’s about to pour the first mug before Sam’s hand gently circles his wrist, stopping his movements.
“Buck, you need some sleep.”
Bucky says nothing as he sets the mug down, scrubbing over his face with his free hand before he shrugs and glances down at Sam’s hand still holding his wrist.
“S’not like I can. Haven’t been able to sleep for weeks.”
It’s true, he hasn’t gotten a full nights sleep in the time they’ve been snapped back into reality.
A wounded sound coming from Sam, Bucky looks up at him to find a set determination to him, a disapproving frown of his own across his face as he gently but firmly takes a hold of Bucky’s hand.
“Is it the nightmares?”
Bucky knows he’s damned if he answers, damned if he doesn’t, and so he doesn’t. His silence is confirmation enough as Sam nods and is lacing his fingers with his own, squeezing lightly.
“Will it help, if I stay?”
Swallowing heavily as a lump forms in his throat at the gesture and offer, Bucky’s sure he’s unable to fight off the blush that spreads across his cheeks. Again, his silence seems to be answer enough for Sam as he nods once more and is gently guiding him back towards his living room.
Taking a seat in the airchair, Bucky’s apartment being sparse with other furniture, he hesitates as Sam tries to pull him with him. A moment later and another pull has Bucky falling into Sam’s lap, a sound catching in his throat before he’s settled and he buries his face back into Sam’s neck, his blush deepening as he says nothing.
“Just get some sleep. I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe, I’ve got you.” Sam murmurs soothingly into Bucky’s temple, a press of his lips a comforting pressure as already Bucky’s eyes are falling closed. His body giving out at the reassurances Sam’s providing.
He isn’t sure he’s fully awake when he feels the press of a kiss to his hair, a soft whisper of, “I love you, damn fool.” But it has him relaxing further into the warm embrace, nuzzling the side of Sam’s neck and letting out a sleepy, “love you too, Sammy.”
He sleeps for a full eight hours, and when he wakes to find Sam still there, that it wasn’t some trick of a dream, he repeats the sentiment earlier, a quiet, “Love you, Sam,” and earns a scoff and an affectionate eye roll, along with another kiss to his temple as he repeats the words right back to him.
It’s the most peaceful rest he’s had in ages, and he’s never been more grateful or more in love with Sam Wilson in his life.