Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The First Year

~~~

Summer

Sam wasn’t exactly sure what Steve expected the two of them to do after giving Sam the shield. Run into danger, join up with S.H.I.E.L.D, start The Avengers again? Whatever Steve had imagined, he’s pretty sure that he didn’t expect Sam and Bucky to move to a cabin in Northern Maine. Granted, Bucky and Sam hadn’t planned to stay in the small cabin in Maine either. Yet here they were.

They came to the cabin in the later summer. It started as a stop. A pause. Some place to lay low and figure out their next move after Tony’s funeral. The cabin is small. This little thing meant for a cozy day trip. Pepper had offered it to them after the funeral. Some little place she and Tony even forgot they had. There was a small kitchen and a fireplace. There was only one bedroom on the second floor containing a queen size bed. This wasn’t a problem though. If Bucky wasn’t having trouble sleeping, then Sam was. And worse case there was a ratty old couch sitting near the fireplace.

Bucky had spent the first day there staring out at the water. It was still and reflected the tall pines around it almost perfectly. It had rained recently and was colder that day, and not well suited for swimming. So they decided to stay a little longer to swim, it felt like a waste not to.

And the lake was cool, but in a refreshing way. The water was calm and fresh and at the end of the day as Bucky towels his hair off in the kitchen sink he asked if they could stay a little longer. Sam was going to argue, but once he saw Bucky’s face he realized that maybe even asking was harder than he thought. So Sam nodded and they figured it out.

First few weeks were spent staring out at the water and basking in the sunlight and swimming in the lake. But when they thought they should head elsewhere for warmer weather, neither wanted to leave. They had grown attached quickly. Then Bucky had asked if they could stay. Decided. And Sam decided in that same moment that maybe that’s the recovery method for Bucky. Let him decide. Let him make his own decisions. So they stayed.

But it wasn’t always swimming in the lake or staring out at the water. There were bad days.

Sam can tell whether it will be a good day or a bad day just by looking at Bucky. His hair is always in his face, but on bad days, it’s almost darker and limper. Less “It’s just easier this way.” and more “What’s a haircut?”. His shoulders almost bend inward towards himself trying to appear as small as possible or coiled and ready for a fight. But Sam learned the easiest way to tell if it is a bad day is through his eyes. They turn this steely grey instead of the usual blue-grey. The eyes of The Winter Soldier and not James Buchanan Barnes.

It’s a bad day today. Sam doesn’t address it at first, just walks over to the coffee machine and starts a new pot. He dumps the strong pot Bucky probably made when he woke up and puts on a fresh one. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks offhandedly picking out of their assortment of too many mugs which he wants to use today.

Sam doesn’t get a response. He didn’t really expect one to begin with. He picks a mug and pretends to pick something out of the bottom. Then he takes a quick glance at the other man. Bucky looks like he didn’t sleep. He looks like he’s seen unspeakable things. Sam wonders what he remembered this time. Was his count off this time? Those days were always the worst, when Bucky remembers another life he took he didn’t remember previously. Sam finishes putting too much milk and not enough sugar in the mug before sitting across from Bucky. He sips and raises an eyebrow. “I don’t care if you don’t want to talk about it, but it’s rude not to answer.”

Sam sees him adjust his jaw like he just realized he’d been clenching it and flexes his fingers. The plates shift on his dark metallic arm, making a mechanical whirring noise that reminds Sam of waking a computer after being in sleep mode. Sam can tell that being around other people helps get Bucky out of his head, a little. Bucky gives an almost not there shake of his head.

“So I was going to go grocery shopping today because I was low on coffee creamer.” Sam purposely leaves his mug in the middle of the table within reach of Bucky. He stands and walks over to the fridge. He opens it and peers in as if to help make his point, “Plus I think we’re running low on other stuff too. We’ve been having too much take-out. I think it’s a sign that we need some stuff. I mean just look, you can start to see the back, clearly we need something.” Sam continues to partake in a one-sided conversation and pulls out a pad of paper adding stuff that they probably don’t need to a list.

Bucky is silent, but reaches over and takes the steaming cup of coffee that Sam had placed in the middle of the island. He replaces it with his now old cold mug. He breathes it in and takes several long sips.

Finally, Sam rips the piece of paper off the pad and dangles it in front of Bucky’s face. “Alright, one-armed-wonder, I have to do that thing later, can you go to the store for me?” It’s the first time that morning that Sam has seen the color return back to Bucky’s eyes. Sam doesn’t mention it though and dangles the paper back and forth.

“Sure, birdbrain, but I’m taking your coffee.”

Sam scoffs and discards Bucky’s old coffee just like his bad mood.

~~~

Fall

He’s flying. It’s nice to feel the air beneath him again. He missed the way the wind would whistle just right if he tilted his head just perfectly. The heat of Afghanistan mixed with the coolness of the wind caressing his cheek. He almost lets out a triumphant shout when the person in front of him does.

There’s someone in front of him. Of course there is. It’s Riley. It’s always Riley. His fluffy blond hair fluttering around. Despite the goggles on his face, and the fact that he isn’t looking back at Sam, he’s smiling. He can tell. They weave through the air together, around each other. He’s going to turn around and smile at Sam. Like he alway does after a mission well done. That’s his flying partner.

They were called in to save someone. The mission is just at the tip of his tongue. He could spell it, or write it down, but

He’s going to smile and then he’s going to be shot out of the sky.

Sam frowns. But, they’ve done this a million times. They’re rebellious and stupid sometimes, sure, but this one is just a regular rescue. No stupid stunts, nothing. Just regular.

Still the thought bugs him, so he opens his mouth to say something, but the wind is hard and fast and suddenly too cold and the words get swallowed up, stuck in his throat. He keeps trying though, he should say something. But any sound he tries to make comes out as this aborted noise. He’s going to fall. He’s going to fall and get his dumb ass shot out the sky and I’m going to watch . Sam knows, seconds before, he should turn away, avert his eyes.

He turns and it’s the same view, as if Riley knew he was trying to look away. As if the universe said he’d have to, he’d have to watch. He flinches, closes his eyes and when he opens them again it’s Steve.

Of course it’s Steve. Riley is gone. Riley was never there was he? And Steve is falling, an rpg rocketing toward Steve’s back. Steve is smiling at Sam, mouthing something he can’t hear. Sam goes to shout but there is only heat and noise.

They both get shot out of the sky. Sam loses sight of Steve for a few moments and he’s tumbling, struggling to figure out which way is up. And there’s no red sand, there’s no sand, just black emptiness as he tumbles endlessly for a few moments. He’s plummeting. There’s a scream and Sam can’t tell if it’s Steve or himself. Sam holds his hand out, trying to catch Steve, Riley, someone.

He sees the edge of a hand in the corner of his vision. He can almost touch it. Almost there. Just a little bit closer.

When Sam’s hand finally catches on Steve’s fingers. He pulls, flailing a little, tries to pull him close, trying to force this free fall into something he can manage and he looks into his eyes and

Steve is old. Small and skinny and wrinkly, surely grabbing him will break something. 

But it’s better than letting him fall.

So after he catches the fingers again he grasps, catches his hand, and he feels the smooth coolness of the ring on his finger. Then he feels it, the hand does break. But there’s not a break or blood or bone.

There’s a snap.

He dissolves. Steve’s dust starts in his hand and continues. Sam watches with horror as it reaches his face, Steve looks resolved, sad, but accepting.

Dust in the wind. 

Sam tries to catch onto the pieces the clumps of dust as they begin to blow away, surely if he can gather it, he can put it back together again. But when he looks in his hands, the dust simply dissolves into smaller pieces. He kneels trying to pick up the nonexistent pieces on the ground. He crawls on hands and knees. He has to save him. He has to bring him home.

The dust picks up with every gust of wind that blows by. Steve’s dust mingles with some leaves and dirt. He remembers the feeling of this wind, the breeze that blew through the jungle of Wakanda. Hot and humid, Sam is trying to hold it, save it, some of it, any of it. It’s all that’s left of Steve. The more he grasps, the faster it floats into nothing. 

There’s a hand on his shoulder.

Sam turns. It’s Wanda. She’s in a nice dress and Sam is in a nice suit.. Sam hasn’t seen her in this dress in a while. Hasn’t seen her in a while. Last time was Tony’s funeral. She’s wearing the same thing she wore to Tony’s funeral. Then he realizes why he’s in a suit. Sam is holding flowers. So is Wanda and they’re standing next to a coffin.

It strikes him that they’re at a funeral. He looks down at a coffin, but he can’t remember whose. Who died? Who is it this time? Tony? Natasha? Steve? Who did he fail to catch this time? He tries to ask, but there aren’t any words that come out. Tries to figure out what he’s doing there. Wanda is here, surely he can ask Wanda.

Sam turns back to ask and then he’s flying again, but it’s Rhodes. He’s falling. The War Machine’s eyes are black and off and he’s plummeting. Plunging to the earth like it’s his job. Sam starts his nosedive, but he’s too slow he can tell. He’s just out of arm’s reach. Hands grasping, reaching. There is nothing on the suit's face, but he knows Rhodey’s in there. Rhodey’ll die, if he hits the ground, Rhodey’ll die.

He’s screaming. It’s himself this time, he’s the one screaming. There is so much wind. The ground is gaining on them. He can tell he can’t pull them up in time. It’s coming, the ground, it’s so close. He’s so close, if he can just reach him. The suit pulls back, yanking Rhodes out of reach, the suit forces its safety onto Sam and a plume of dust billows up from the ground where The War Machine landed.

Sam lands, scrambles over to the crater, quickly pushes and moves dirt out of the way. Tries to force his way through the dust cloud. He crawls over to the crater, digs around the extra dirt, and it’s Bucky.

He’s got his hair back in a lazy bun, the one that he wears when he’s feeling especially Bucky that day. And he’s wearing the tank top that he wears around the house when it’s hot and he almost looks like that one time Sam found him sleeping on the couch after having gone swimming that one time. But then Bucky chokes in a breath and all that comes out is blood. There’s blood and his arm is missing and his eyes shoot open and he gurgles out blood and he says “Sam, please,” Sam is crying and he tries to shove his hands somewhere to stop the bleeding and Bucky gurgles more blood and he reaches up with blood covered hands.

Bucky places his hands on the sides of Sam’s face. “ Sam, you need to wake up .”

And he does, screaming. Breath coming quickly. And he’s there. Bucky, with his hands cupping Sam’s cheeks but he’s upside down for some reason. Sam stifiles in another breath and he remembers they’re in the cabin on the lake. He can hear the birds chirping outside. He can hear the last bits of the fireplace crackling. It’s still cold enough to need a light fire, but the birds haven’t quite left for warmer weather yet. The fireplace has died down and is only red embers now.

“Sam,” Bucky starts. He can’t finish. He just continues holding Sam’s face as Sam’s breath starts to even out.

“Bucky?” Sam’s voice cracks.

Bucky is frowning down at Sam’s face. Sam realizes his head is cradled in Bucky’s lap. He must’ve fallen asleep while he was on his laptop. 

Whatever H.G. Wells' book Bucky has been reading is balanced upside down on the arm of the couch. Bucky looks nervously down at Sam’s face like he isn’t quite sure what to do. 

Sam clears his throat awkwardly. “I thought…” Sam falters. He can’t voice it. He can’t think about it.

Bucky ends up gently setting his elbow on Sam’s shoulder. He perches The Time Machine back on that hand and begins calmly reading while Sam stares at Bucky and tries to match his breathing with the other man. A few moments pass in this weird limbo, Sam using Bucky as a metronome of air, Bucky using Sam as an armrest slash reading stand. Finally Sam’s breathing feels regular and Bucky gently shifts the book to his other hand and begins reading over the armrest. 

“Sorry, I just thought...”

Bucky gently places his free hand on Sam’s shoulder and breathes out softly, “It’s fine, I’m here.”

A few quiet moments pass between the two of them. Neither saying anything else, just listening to the soft crackle of the dying fireplace. The dream starts to seem more fake the longer he thinks about it, the details of it falling through his hands like sand. “‘s cold.” Sam complains childishly.

Bucky simply throws the ugly afghan that was sitting on the back of the sofa on top of Sam and flips a page in his book. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Sam shakes his head. “No.”

Bucky nods. If anyone knew about letting something go it was Bucky. Sometimes talking about it made it worse. Sometimes talking about it made it better. But forcing the issue either way would get them nowhere. So his flesh hand, the one not holding the book ends up gently draped across Sam’s forearm. He begins rubbing small motions into it, almost like he doesn't realize he’s doing it. It borders the line between sensitive and ticklish but Sam doesn’t stop him.

~~~

Winter

He can tell when Bucky is having a bad day, but sometimes he can’t quite tell how bad it is. Sometimes, asking him to do something, like to go to the store, or fix something around the house can break him out of it.

Sometimes there is nothing to do besides wait for it to pass.

This usually isn’t hard, especially if Sam can get out onto the little dock to see the lake. But the cabin is up north and now it’s winter, so the snow is biting and the cold goes straight to their bones. 

Sam is headed downstairs to make breakfast after a fitful night’s rest, he’s from Georgia, his body isn’t used to this kind of cold. Maybe some coffee might help this chill in him. When he reaches the last step, he can see Bucky’s figure standing in front of the fireplace.

Sam rubs a hand down his face and grumbles out a greeting before heading to the kitchen.

He doesn’t get a response. 

Sam turns on the coffee machine and pulls out a box of cereal that was sitting on top of the refrigerator. Before he pours it into a bowl he steps into the living room. “Hey Barnes, you want something besides cereal?”

Sam notices Bucky hasn’t moved, not even shifted. Hasn’t even inclined his head that he might have heard him. Then he noticed the coat he was still wearing. Finally he sees that the fireplace had been burning for a while nearly down to red embers, but Bucky was standing in front of it just staring.

“Bucky?” Sam asks, trying not to let the concern show in his voice.

No response again. Sam set down the cereal and stepped closer to Bucky. The coat looked wet, and water was pooling around his boots. Sam carefully pulled the hood off of Bucky’s head. His hair was wet, water clinging and dripping off his beard as well. Sam sighed. He silently moved and took the coat off. Bucky didn’t move to assist, but didn’t resist either. He stood silent, mesmerized by the fireplace, not even looking at it, but past it.

Sam found a towel and dried the floor around Bucky’s boots. He helped remove those as well then hung the coat up to dry and put the boots near the door.

Sam went around his regular day after. Nothing else to do. Emails, phone calls, texts, drank some coffee. When he was done, he made a cup for Bucky. He walked over to the fireplace and cupped Bucky’s hand around the mug. Barnes accepted it, holding onto the little handle but still didn’t move. Didn’t register the action fully. Sam’s hand lingered. 

Sometimes he wonders if he could do more. Bucky had gotten a lot worse after Steve left. It was months by now, and he was improving again, but it was hard. Often felt like an uphill climb, a mountain like the one Bucky fell off all those years ago. Sometimes Sam didn’t know if he was doing the right thing.

Sam tried his grocery list again. Tried complaining about a leak that didn’t exist, but nothing seemed to phase the ghost lingering in the living room.

Days like these would throw Sam off too. On good days they could do stuff, talk, plan, laugh. Bucky could cheat Sam out of a pretty penny if they played poker. But days like these? The particularly bad ones? Sam felt almost as listless as Bucky did.

So Sam fixed the not-leak and before he went out to the store to get groceries they didn’t need. He took the untouched mug from Bucky’s hand and whispered that he would be back.

It was dark when Sam came home. He had been driving aimlessly for a while before actually going to the store. He slowly brought in groceries and unpacked them. Bucky had shifted, but it was clear he hadn’t left his post at the front of the fireplace.

Sam had hoped maybe he’d have gone to bed by the time he came back. It wasn’t an overwhelmingly optimistic hope, but it had been there. So he sighed when he finished packing the cupboards and refrigerator with items.

When he finished he turned in time to see Bucky shiver slightly. Sam took that as a good sign at the very least.

He stuffed the plastic bags under the sink and came to stand by Bucky’s side. “We doing any better, man?”

Bucky didn’t answer, but something about his posture relaxed.

Sam placed another log on the fire. “Maybe tomorrow you can get more firewood.”

Bucky nodded but didn’t move.

Sam left again, pretending to do a few more things around the house but finding himself standing by Bucky’s side again. He doesn’t know how long they both stood there, staring at the fire, but finally Sam clears his throat, “I need you to stop now.”

Bucky almost imperceptibly became rigid, but Sam was looking for any kind of reaction.

Sam moved in front of Bucky’s view of the fire. “I try to let you decide, you know? Most of the time I let you choose. But I think you need me to choose right now, okay? Because this? This shit ain’t cool.”

Bucky finally met Sam’s eyes. They were still cold steel.

Sam held out his hand. “You need to sleep. Come.”

Bucky’s eyes blinked, once, twice. Finally looked down to see Sam had offered his hand. He took it with his flesh one.

Sam quietly pulled him through the living room to the stairs in the corner. Bucky didn’t resist or argue. He let the pull of his arm drag him along. Sam knew Bucky could easily break this trust and stop, but was allowing Sam to do this.

Bucky blinked and he was being pushed to sit on the edge of the queen sized bed. He looked up into Sam’s face, but Sam was looking at something on the bedside table. Sam wasn’t wearing his usual put-upon expression, instead a crease of worry had wormed its way between his eyebrows. Bucky wanted to run his finger over it to smooth the lines but he couldn’t. He was so tired. Still the motor of the vibranium arm hummed with the need. But he just sat there, staring at Sam. Sam finally turned back to Bucky, “Sleep.”

Bucky blinked again, and he was being pushed into the bed and under the covers. So he did what he thought would get the crease out of Sam’s forehead and he listened.

Sam walked back downstairs and fell asleep on the ratty sofa in front of the fireplace. When he woke up, there was a cup of coffee sitting on the coffee table and Bucky was crouched next to him, tracing shapes onto the back of Sam’s hand.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky seemed to whisper to the air, “I didn’t mean to go so far.” He shook his head. “God, I’m sorry.” His voice cracked slightly but he cleared it and continued his finger’s slow drawl over Sam’s hand. He apologized again. It almost sounded like a prayer.

Sam’s throat felt thick. He swallowed, “I know.”

Bucky apologized again “Please don’t leave. I-I’m sorry.”

Bucky continued repeating the apology over and over again. Sam placed a hand gently on top of his head, “I know. It’s okay. I forgive you.” Bucky continued softer this time, and placed his forehead on Sam’s arm. “It’s okay.” Sam told him again, gently stroking Bucky’s hair. “I’m still here.” Sam pretended that he didn’t notice Bucky crying. “I’ll always be here.”

~~~

Spring

It’s a bad day. He’d already tried the grocery trick. Ripped off the list and taunted Bucky with needing help. Bucky had instead set the list down and said nothing, ghosting his way across the cabin, sitting on the couch for a few hours staring at the fireplace before ghosting back to the island. During that time Sam had decided to make a few phone calls and answer a couple emails. Then his stress cleaning kicked in. 

Bucky was good most of the time. He got up, cracked some terrible bird joke or mean wise-crack at Sam and they would go about their days. Bucky usually read whatever sci-fi book caught his attention. Sometimes all Barnes needed was some time and he could kick himself out of a bad mood. 

But as Sam continues to wipe down the counter he looks to see the fog had almost cleared from his eyes, but Bucky still hadn’t spoken, not a word.

Sam walked over to the sink to rinse out the rag he was using. When he flipped the knob he  realized it was dripping a little from the faucet if he didn’t turn it off in a certain way. He tried to screw with the nozzle on the sink and fiddle with the handle a little more to stop the dripping, but it didn’t. Sam sighed. Just another goddamned thing to add to his list.

“What’s wrong?”

Sam looked up, and saw the steely look in his eyes still, but he wasn’t focused on Sam, it was on the sink.

Sam shrugs thinking it’s best to pretend nothing’s wrong with Barnes and pretend this is a normal conversation. “Sink’s broken. Probably needs a new nozzle or something.” He slowly dried his hands on the ratty kitchen towel giving him an assessing look. “I have to send a couple of emails and won’t be able to get around to it until later.”

There were a few moments of quiet before Bucky cleared his throat, “I can fix it.” He walked around the island in the kitchen to look at the faucet. Sam held his hands up in a be-my-guest gesture and scooted away.

Bucky cracks the knuckles on his human hand and starts to fiddle with the shitty little metal piece on the end of their faucet. Eventually he uses the strong vibranium arm to twist tighter around the nozzle. Sam watches for a few minutes before Bucky finally flips the sink on and off and the leak doesn’t show up.

“Well, alright, looks like you’re good for something, huh, Barnes?”

Bucky looks up and Sam sees his bright blue-grey eyes, almost sparkling. Like this, this small act, fixing a leak in a sink is enough today. Enough to justify his existence for today. Eyes shining, he looks at his hands for a moment before he blows a piece of hair out of his face and smirks at Sam, “Says a lot more about you than it does me that it was so easy to fix, though.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “If you’re so damn handy then why don’t you fix the damn water pressure problem then, huh?”

Bucky tilts his head almost imperceptibly but a piece of hair shifts from it’s tuck behind his ear. Sam almost gets distracted before Bucky shrugs, “I’d have to buy some things to do that.”

Sam lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding and pulls out his wallet. He chucks his credit card at Bucky before folding the rest of his wallet back into his pocket and going over to his laptop. “If you can fix the water pressure, you can buy yourself a whole damn toolbox.”

And then he did. 

Bucky came back into the little cabin with a red metal box with drawers that folded out and some screwdrivers, a hammer, and a bunch of screws and nails. Sam was shocked that he didn’t buy himself a power drill. Then he realized Bucky probably didn’t even know that those were a thing.

It took Bucky the next three days but afterwards, the shower pressure was better. It wasn’t immensely different, but there was only so much one geriatric veteran can do with already shitty water pressure.

Sam smirks and claps Bucky on the back.

It’s later that night. Bucky had just finished fixing up the water pressure earlier that afternoon, so Sam had taken a long hot shower that took up all of the hot water they had and then decided to lay down for a nap.

It was a good nap, a little short and he’s still kind of groggy but Bucky is standing over the bed staring down at Sam like he isn’t sure if he’s allowed.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Sam says casually, flipping over and looking up at Bucky. His eyes are right, but they look red.

Bucky folds his arms and shrugs.

“What’s up, T-1000?”

Bucky lets out a huff of a breath with a half smile. Then opens and shuts his mouth as if trying to start several sentences. Finally he stops and sits perched at the end of the bed. “I wasn’t sure if…” He trails off, almost like he’s disappointed how he sounds.

Sam quirks an eyebrow and sits up rubbing his face lightly, “Use your words,”

Bucky sighs, “Wasn’t sure if I was allowed to wake you up.”

Sam huffs out half a laugh and smiles, “Well, you’ve done it already, so what’s up?” He lets the joking tone in his voice indicate that he doesn’t mind. Because Sam is always willing to wake up for Bucky because that usually involves him wanting to talk about something. He’s trying to encourage that as much as possible. 

Bucky settles a little on the edge of the bed and pulls out a long chain from around his neck. Glinting off the late afternoon sun for just a moment are his dog tags. “I remembered. Well, I never forgot, but I remembered why I remembered.”

“Your dogtags?” Sam asks, confused.

Bucky runs his flesh hand over the warmed metal and hands them to Sam. “Steve told me I’d enlisted.” He looks down at his hands. “He told me that I’d seen him constantly trying to enlist and thought maybe this was something I could’ve done for him.”

Sam looks down at the small pieces of metal in his hands. They’re painfully familiar. Despite being older than Sam’s own, they hold much of the same information. Sometimes he wonders how so much of a person can be written down on such a small piece of metal. Sam glances over at Riley’s dog tags, looped around the same chain as his own sitting somewhere on the nightstand. Still, he runs his fingers over the slightly worn metal of Bucky’s and wonders what he’s about to learn.

James B Barnes

32557038 T42 45B

George Barnes

544 Union Ave

Brooklyn, NY P

“It's a lot different these days.” Sam offers, still confused why he’s looking over the tags.

“Yeah, Like my tetanus information is on there. Don’t know if you guys still do that.”

Sam rubs his eyes, thinking he’s supposed to be picking up on something that he isn’t. He reads over George’s name. His father, probably. “Have you looked into your family?”

Bucky shrugs, “Yeah, one of my sisters is still alive. I haven’t… I don’t really know if it would benefit either of us to meet. She’s like how Peggy was, I’m told.”

Sam nods, reading the tags again trying to pick up on whatever Bucky is trying to talk about. “What’s the ‘P’ stand for?”

“Protestant… although, not so sure about that anymore.”

Sam nods. Usually when prompted about the thing he wants to talk about, Bucky will go on, but he seems to end the religious conversation there.

“I’m not familiar with all the significance of this, Buck, I’m not gonna lie.”

Bucky doesn’t look him in the eye, instead looks at his hands, “ 32557038.”

Sam looks back at the dog tags, and in fact he just read off the serial number there. He hums, letting Bucky go at his own pace.

“They aren’t just a series of numbers. For some reason, despite everything, I always knew those numbers. I’ve said them so many times I’m tempted to think they’re written in my DNA. Might be imprinted in the serum. It was all I’d say when they gave the serum to me. I’d have called out for Steve, but I was nervous I’d give some information away to the Nazis so instead I said that. It’s so deep in my brain, even as the soldier I always knew it. Said it to calm myself before going on freeze. Before a kill. Before a mind-wipe and fresh after when I didn’t know what was going on anymore.”

Sam looks over at him, but Bucky just flexes his hands and continues to stare at them. Sam is tempted to reach out and hold one of them. But Bucky gave him his dog tags, and he doesn’t think Bucky’s done yet.

“Steve told me that I’d enlisted, and I don’t know if I just lied to him or not.”

Sam tilts his head, “What do you mean?”

Bucky sighs, “The serial number… The 3 means I was drafted. I might have never told him because he always wanted to go. But I didn’t. I wanted to stay.” He finally puts his face in his hands, and rubs them down his face as he looks over at Sam. “I wanted to stay in Brooklyn with him. With Steve. But I was drafted, Sam.”

Sam didn’t know what to say about that. He hadn’t even thought about it. Of all the things to haunt him on this day, it’s this fact. Even after everything Hydra did, the Russians, it was this. His home country, forcing him out of home and into war. It wasn’t the serum that made Bucky Barnes a weapon first.

“I enlisted right out of high school.” Sam said. Picking up his own dog tags and placing them gently in Bucky’s hand. “They used to have recruiters stationed in our lunch room. They’d hand out these pamphlets and tried to make joining the military sound as fun as possible. My sister was always a little politically active so I kind of knew what was happening. That if I joined I was signing away my life so I could go to school one day. So I could send money back to my sister.” Sam looks back to Bucky. “It’s not the same.”

Bucky shook his head. “But you get it.”

“We aren’t a part of that anymore.” Sam said, but it sounded a little fake to even his own ears.

“Aren’t we?” Bucky asks.

Sam shrugs, fingers playing with the dogtags lightly. Bucky hums thoughtfully in response. Despite the conversation, Sam thinks Bucky looks especially stable today. His hair is gently pulled back into a lazy bun at the nape of his neck and his blue-grey eyes bright. Even the circles under his eyes are gentle, soft.

Sam gently lifts Bucky’s tags and puts them over his own head. Feels them jingle as they hit his chest.

“I’m going back to sleep.” Sam says, pulling the covers back up over his shoulders. Bucky looks lost for a moment. “Bed’s big enough if you would like to join.”

“Are you offering or telling me?”

Sam shrugs, “I think you’ve had enough of someone telling you what to do for several lifetimes.”

Sam peaks one eye open as he hears the soft jingle of dog tags and sees Bucky putting on Sam’s set from the nightstand. After Sam closes his eyes he feels more than hears Bucky scoot under the covers several moments later. Sam smiles gently to himself. “Good night, Bucky.”

“Good night, Sam.”

Chapter Text

The Second Year

~~~

Summer

Sam started running again. He isn’t sure when he really started, maybe it was after he realized that waking up next to Bucky made his brain think that they should talk about it. It’s been weeks, nearly two months since it started. It would be late and Sam still hadn’t answered all his emails, the ones asking about the shield he’s stored under the couch. The ones asking about the next time he’d think he’d be on a mission. The ones from his sister asking if he’d ever be home, at least to visit.

When Sam finally commented that he just wasn’t ready yet. Too busy, too much, too something, he’d crawl up the stairs and find Bucky, softly snoring into Sam’s pillow. It said something that when Sam roughly pushed him over, Bucky did nothing but roll with a small snort and grumble and allow Sam to steal his pillow back and fall to sleep himself.

And the mornings were spent looking at each other lightly wondering when one of them would mention something. Say that they’ve both become dependent on this thing between them, this thing they don’t want to talk about. Instead it’s easier to start waking up before Bucky and start running.

So he stopped waking to a cup of coffee, and instead drank a cold glass of water, ran around the lake and then came back and drank his cup of coffee. Because by that time, Bucky had started the pot, and as much as Sam hates to admit it, Bucky is much better at making coffee than he is.

But that falls into one of those things that he doesn’t want to think about too much. 

“I swear to God, Barnes, If you used all the creamer in your fucking cereal like a lunatic, again, I’ll be pissed.”

Bucky looks up, about to scoop a large mouthful of lucky charms into his mouth. “And what are you gonna do if I did?”

Sam sighs heavily seeing the empty creamer container in the garbage can. “That shit’s so weird man, there isn’t even real milk in there. It’s mostly sugar and water.”

Bucky looks down at his cereal offended, “It’s sweet milk though.”

“Listen, there’s a reason I don’t put nearly as much of that shit in my coffee as you do.”

Bucky frowns at his bowl like it has personally wronged him in some kind of way. “I wondered why people would buy milk and coffee creamer too. Creamer tastes so much better.” Sam laughs as he watches Bucky throw the rest of his lucky charms down the sink. “And that was the last of the Lucky Charms, too.”

Sam makes a surprised sound as he opens the fridge door. He leans on the door as he peers inside.

“What?” Bucky asks leaning over Sam’s shoulder to see inside. “Oh.”

“We’re out of eggs. And we’re almost out of ketchup.” He pulls the nearly empty bottle of Heinz out to show it to Bucky.

Barnes opens the cupboard and says “We don’t have any of those weird cheesy crackers you like or any dry pasta left either. Oh we don’t even have any of that good pasta sauce.” Sam nearly rolls his eyes at the comment because apparently Prego is ‘good pasta sauce’ for Bucky but pauses halfway through the motion.

“When was the last time we went grocery shopping?”

“I-” Bucky tilts his head and it reminds Sam of a puppy. “Not sure.”

Sam smiles, “Not sure. Well, you up for a trip to the store?”

Bucky blinks once, twice, then smiles. “Sure.”

They’ve never gone to the store together. It’s a very weird experience. Bucky is pushing the cart as Sam walks by the lane and will occasionally drop an item into the cart. Bucky will occasionally take things out and put something else in, like he has a brand preference, which Sam realizes he does because they only have barilla pasta and prego sauce ever and he marvels at the idea.

“Have we ever gone shopping together?”

“No, we haven’t.” Bucky says checking the labels on two different cans of tomato soup.

“How long have we been living together and we’ve never gone to the store together?”

Bucky looks up suddenly. His eyebrows scrunch together, “What day is it?”

Sam shrugs, “I dunno, Wednesday, why?”

Bucky snorts, “Not the day of the week, of the month.”

“Why?”

Bucky smirks at Sam, “Why it might be our anniversary.”

That stops Sam for a moment. “Wait, really?”

Bucky actually laughs at that, “Yeah, we came to the cabin last summer, and it’s been a year.”

Sam hums at that though as a middle-aged woman with a store vest on walks down the aisle with a price gun. “Oh James!” She says, waving to Bucky, who looks up surprised.

“Oh, good morning, Lorraine.”

Sam stares at Bucky for a few moments.

“Haven’t seen you around the store in a while. Wondered if you had gotten tired of Maine yet.”

Bucky smiles kindly, “Not yet. Just ran out of some things and needed to stop by.”

She smiles, “That’s good. I remember back when you first came to town you would stop by every three days to grab something.” She picks up a can of cream of mushroom and scans it with her price gun. Then she turns to see Sam. “Oh, hello, I’m Lorraine.” She holds out her hand and looks up to meet Sam’s slightly bewildered face. “And you’re Sam Wilson, oh my God.” Her face matching his for a brief moment.

Sam shakes it off, chuckles a little, and smiles, “Hi, sorry about that. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Didn’t know that Bucky knew that many other people.”

She still looks shocked for a few moments but the only thing she says is, “Bucky?”

Bucky laughs lightly. “Sorry, it’s an old childhood nickname. Only a couple people are really allowed to call me that.”

Sam gives Bucky an unreadable look. Lorraine nods like she completely understands. Sam is almost entirely thrown.

“Well, I’m glad to finally meet your mysterious partner, James. It’s been a pleasure.” She nods to Sam. “If you’re getting fish today ask for the salmon, it’s the freshest.” She gives a half-assed salute to Bucky and continues down the aisle scanning various items as she goes.

They watch her silently then Bucky finally drops one of the cans he was holding into the cart and brusquely pushes the cart away from her.

“You’re friends with the store clerk.” Sam tells Bucky after they reach another aisle, as if Bucky wasn’t aware of this fact.

Bucky rolls his eyes and nods. “Yes, Sam.”

“And she thinks I’m your partner.”

Bucky looks at Sam. “I am.”

Sam sputters a little. “Buck…”

“Sam?”

Sam sighs, honestly with everything going on today: The whole bed thing and the finding out Bucky talks to people like a human being thing and the anniversary of them basically abandoning all their responsibility to hide in a cabin in the woods for a year thing, he can’t really find it in himself to explain the connotations that the word ‘partner’ can have these days, or even argue against said connotations right now. So instead he throws in a packet of powdered donuts into the cart and doesn’t ask.

Eventually he’ll find a good time to talk about it. One day.

~~~

Autumn

This isn’t the first time that Sam has screamed during a nightmare. Not even the first time that Sam has screamed during a nightmare while Bucky and Sam have shared the one queen sized bed in the little cabin. This is though, the first time that Sam hasn’t woken himself up with the screaming.

Bucky isn’t quite sure what to do, so far, they’ve kind of dealt with all of their problems with a lot of not directly talking about it and he isn’t exactly ready to let that comfort of not talking about it go.

“Sam,” He says softly when some of the screaming has died down. He’s crying now, this soft but noticeable thing. He can’t pretend to ignore it. It’s a desperate kind of noise with these long pauses of gasps and silences in between. The kind of silence that demands to be talked about. And that’s the thing about not talking about the hard things, the difficult things, the painful things. They always come to light, whether you want them to or not.

When he reaches out, he isn’t even sure he’s done it at first. And he’s sure it must be some kind of glitch in the arm at first, something he has to talk about with T’Challa or his sister about, but the feeling of Sam’s sleep shirt hits him: soft, some kind of cotton blend, for a moment he’s confused because it’s probably one of Bucky’s red henleys and then he realizes, it’s his arm, his flesh arm. There’s nothing wrong with the vibranium arm, he reached out, to comfort, something he wasn’t sure he could do anymore. He’s just unconsciously reached out to him, and isn’t that what the past year has been anyway? Slowly reaching out to each other with soft gestures the other hopes to take as goodwill.

Sam blinks awake and meets Bucky’s eyes immediately. Bucky watches the column of Sam’s throat as he swallows thickly. Sam’s tongue darts across his lips quickly and Bucky’s eyes follow that movement too.

“Bad dream?” Bucky’s voice comes out both softer and deeper than he anticipated. Probably because he was asleep not long ago.

Sam nods. He doesn’t look at Bucky’s arm, he doesn’t look away, he maintains this haunted eye contact.

Bucky clears his throat before he says, “Do you want to talk about it?” He tries for it not to sound so intimate, and misses by a mile.

Sam shakes his head lightly but Bucky squeezes his shoulder. And then Sam looks down at it.

“Please.” Bucky finds himself saying, “I can’t watch you do this again.”

Sam’s head snaps up and he stares at Bucky again.

“I was there.” Sam starts, “I was there the day that Riley was shot out of the sky.”

Bucky holds his breath for a moment. Sam turns away from him. Bucky thinks it might be easier for Sam not to face him. To have to see whatever look on his face, whatever it says, good or otherwise. Still, in turning away, Sam has to put his back to Bucky and move physically closer. So Bucky pulls Sam into his chest as he says, “I’m sorry.”

Sam shrugs, letting Bucky hold him loosely. “It was supposed to be a standard operation,” Begins, “Regular rescue mission. But Riley still got shot straight out of the air in front of me.” Bucky feels him visibly shiver ask if he’s reliving the moment in his arms. “He didn’t… He didn’t die, I heard him part of the way down. I tried to catch him, but… I couldn’t… I didn’t make it.”

“Is that what the dream is about?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes it’s Steve. He’s falling and I can’t catch him, or it’s Rhodey or it’s...” The you is left implied.

Bucky doesn’t say anything. He’ll sometimes get dreams about tearing Sam’s wings off. Or pulling the steering wheel from the car. Bucky wasn’t really there for either acts, it was the winter soldier, that’s what Sam’s told him. But he still has the memories. The aftermath of the battles scarred his mind. Knows it must have been hard to turn around and fight for him on the Tarmac. He can’t stop the frown on this face.

“I know that Rhodey wasn’t really my fault. Not really.”

Bucky blinks, realizing Sam is pulling away from talking about them again. He got in his head too much. Still, he gets it. He nods. “But it still feels like it.”

Sam sighs. Bucky feels Sam’s whole weight for a moment, like that confession, that agreement, the understanding lifted the weight of that from him. That if anyone would understand that guilt that doesn’t fully belong to them but can’t belong to anyone else. The people who do deserve it certainly won’t feel it. And they know, that grief, guilt, and pain, it demands to be felt even by those who don’t deserve it. “I know it wasn’t my fault, but if I hadn’t been flying, and vision hadn’t been trying to shoot me…”

“Then it wouldn’t have happened?” Bucky asks. “Take it from someone who has had those questions, on a regular basis. That kind of thinking will eat you up, Sam.”

He nods. “I know. But my dreams don’t.”

“No,” Bucky concedes, “No they don’t.”

They are quiet there for another few moments. So much time passes here in this cabin, their cabin. Bucky can hear the last of the birds chirping outside, if he listens closely he can hear the leaves fall off the trees to the ground and the family of deer crunching through the dead leaves. He hears Sam’s breathing, small huffs of air, can hear his heart a gentle rhythm beating a gentle march into his mind, into his soul.

“None of it is your fault either.” Sam finally says.

“Always have to turn it into a learning experience for me, don’t you?”

Sam blows out a breath of a laugh. “It’s easier that way.”

Bucky tucks his chin over Sam’s shoulder and closes his eyes. He breathes in this moment. The early morning calm. He can feel a coldness in his toes, but it isn’t bone chilling, isn’t freezing, doesn’t remind him of the impersonal cold of a cryochamber. It reminds him that they spent all night watching different colored leaves fall onto the lake while they had dragged the little metal firepit onto the dock. Had warm mugs of apple cider with cinnamon sticks for straws. He wants to remember this moment. Maybe it won’t overwrite all the trauma, can’t really make it go away, but perhaps, small moments like this can make living through it all worth it.

~~~

Winter

Bucky is standing on the porch listening to the crickets. He’s wondering what he’s doing here. It’s warm. He hasn’t ever spent a Christmas that he would count as Christmas in a place that wasn’t cold. It’s actually nice.

“James?” Bucky looks over and sees Sam’s sister, Sarah, smiling and heading toward him. “I brought you some eggnog if you’d like?”

Bucky gives her his warmest smile, “Sure,” He says, taking the glass from her. It’s not good. He doesn’t remember eggnog ever being good so he’s not putting that as a strike against Sarah. Still, he continues sipping at the weird milky alcoholic combination. He feels a little out of place. “Thanks for letting me come over. Your house is lovely.”

She smiles, “You’ve been great. I’m glad that you got Sam to come home.” She leans against the railing of the porch, “It used to be our parents’ house.”

“Mom!” The screech of two boys comes from inside the house.

Sarah smiles and turns away, “I’ll send Sam out to keep you company, it appears duty calls.”

Bucky waves as she leaves and then stops sipping at the eggnog and looks down into it.

“Oh God, you actually drinking that stuff?” Sam laughs as he heads out onto the porch to replace his sister.

“No, I just felt rude saying no.”

Sam laughs loudly. Bucky can’t help but admire it, like it shakes out of him with a surprise. “You can always just say no thank you. Sarah loves it, big family tradition. I feel like it’s drinking paint.”

“Apt comparison.” Bucky finally says, setting the glass on a small side table and sitting on the swing that’s attached to the house. Sam moves to sit next to him, gently and playfully nudging him in the shoulder. Bucky presses into the pressure, and they’re close, closer than the swing would need, but neither mention it. “It is a nice house.”

“Yeah, my dad and grandpa built it.”

Bucky nods. “Never been somewhere it’s been warm for Christmas.”

“Sorry you can’t have your white christmas.” Sam jokes.

Bucky smiles at Sam, “I think I might prefer it like this. Never liked the cold.”

“Makes sense.”

Bucky nods. 

“Getting tired of the cabin?”

Bucky shrugs. “Not yet, maybe another summer, then maybe we could head somewhere warmer.”

Sam nods, “Think we could come back here? I think my sister likes me being back home.”

“You mean she likes me being here. I think I’ve fixed the kitchen sink, and the sink in the bathroom,and the back door, and also that light fixture in the hall.” Bucky laughs ticking each item off with his hand.

Sam laughs again, and the sound of it fills Bucky with something warm that he wants to carry with him forever. “That’s probably true. I never really picked up being that handy.”

Sam’s nephews rush down the stairs of the porch pushing at each other carrying empty peanut butter jars. They start running off toward the backyard as Sarah comes out with her own glass of eggnog, “But that’s why you brought James home, right?”

Sam rolls his eyes and this time Bucky laughs and he can feel Sam’s eyes on him afterward.

Bucky picks up his glass and gestures to Sarah, “What would you think if we came here next fall? Thinking of warmer places.”

Sarah doesn’t say anything at first but he sees the Wilson siblings having a silent conversation for a few moments.

Finally Sarah seems to break it and says “Planning on still living with each other then?”

Both Sam and Bucky stiffen a little. Bucky isn’t really sure what runs through his brain through that moment, a lot of self-doubt and panic, instead a few words tumble out of his mouth that sound softer and give way to more than he’d even fully thought through yet, “If Sam’ll have me.”

Sarah hums as Sam looks at Bucky like he hadn’t expected that kind of response. Bucky can’t look at him, nervous what he’ll find on the other man’s face. He’s surprised, he wasn’t really expecting to say it, but it tumbled out. “Well, it’ll be nice to have someone around to fix things up. And you’re welcome to come over whenever you guys do come down here. Plus, I’ll always use free babysitting.”

Sam huffs out a laugh and looks down at his hands but Bucky smiles. “It’ll be interesting, I grew up with a bunch of girls, two boys must be a lot of work.”

“Mom!”

Sarah sighs, “You bet. I’d better see what’s wrong and stop those boys from suffocating all the fireflies in all of Georgia.”

The two men watch Sarah run off calling the boys’ names.

“You would really come down here for me?”

Bucky looked over and found Sam staring down at his folded hands. “You lived in Maine with me for nearly two years now, Sam.” He breathes out slowly, “Of course, Sam. I would...” do anything for you . He can’t choke out the rest of the words.

Sam smiles and pats Bucky’s leg, “Quick if we go inside now, we can get rid of the eggnog before she notices.” He whispers conspiratorial and holds his hands out.

And when Sam reaches out, Bucky’s learned to always accept his hand.

~~~

Spring, finally

It’s the beginning of summer again. It’s been a year since they’d come to this little cabin in Maine. There’s still a chill in the air from the last wisps of spring.

There hadn’t been a bad day in a while. The bad days seemingly left behind with the winter. The snow gave way to lucious green and the lake at the end of the dock outside had melted to a calm reflection of the wilderness around them once again. Sam liked to take his coffee out and sit on the dock to watch the sun rise.

“Bit cold, isn’t it?”

Sam shrugs. “Better than the hot.”

“Agree to disagree.” Bucky said, setting up his deck chair next to Sam and laying an ugly afghan out across his lap.

Sam laughed. “Sometimes you really look like an old man, you know.”

Bucky cradled his hands around his own mug of coffee. “At least I act my age.”

“That is a lie and we both know it.”

They both laughed lightly and they grew into a companionable silence for a bit. The stillness of the lake and the sun rising and settling calmly over their day. The honey hues of the morning glinted across Sam’s face, and Bucky, seated just far enough behind him gladly watched the light color his warm skin.

“I don’t think I’m in love with him anymore.”

Sam turned, shocked, perhaps forgetting that Bucky had even been there to look at him over his shoulder. He closed his eyes and tilted his chin up to absorb more sunlight and replied, “Who?”

“Steve.”

Sam hummed. “That pissed?”

Bucky shook his head, before realizing that Sam wasn’t looking at him. “Not like that.” He replied smally. “I’ll always love him. He’ll always be Stevie. But I’m not… in love with him.” He emphasized. He wasn’t sure why he thought it was important that Sam knows the difference.

Sam looks back at Bucky to try and read his expression. Bucky isn’t sure what he’s trying to find. “I’m glad. Can’t have been healthy. All the stuff between you two. I know how easy it is to fall in love with Steve and how difficult it can be to let that go.”

Bucky tilted his head, “Do you?”

Sam gave a half shrug, “I basically signed up for another tour for Steve. ‘Course it was Captain America, but it was Steve, you know?”

Bucky let out a frustrated huff  and remembered Steve asking him to join the Howlies, “Yeah, I do.”

Sam smiled at him before turning back to the sun again.

“Still sucks.”

Sam shrugged. “Steve was never very good at picking up if someone liked him or not. Platonic or otherwise.”

“No, no he wasn’t.”

Sam drained the last of his coffee and set the empty mug on the dock near his feet and laid his arms out to try and catch as much sunlight as he could.

Bucky let the silence and the sun warm him too as he sipped at his quickly cooling coffee. 

Sam still didn’t open his eyes but rolled his head to direct his words at Bucky. “Well,” Sam said. “When you’re ready let me know.” Bucky hummed as Sam probably referred to the house hunting they were planning on doing later in the day. They had finally agreed that they would head south to move near Sarah and the boys. They’d spend the summer packing and then head south for the winter, just like the birds.

Bucky watched Sam’s hand twitch for a moment. He didn’t respond immediately, but Sam kept his head tilted. He was still for so long, it seemed for a moment that Sam had fallen back asleep. Bucky stood quietly and crouched near the man’s arm. He traced his finger up the length of Sam’s outstretched forearm. It was warm, warmer than he expected and the fingers on Sam’s hand twitched, but his eyes didn’t open. Bucky continued his lazy drawing, up his forearm, past his shoulder and to his neck. He felt the slow lazy pulsepoint under his finger and it calmed him, something so simple and soft, and barely there. He found the chain that now carried three different dog tags on them. Sam, Riley, and Bucky. A piece of them, always with each other. Finally, his fingers found themselves under Sam’s chin, tilting it up. Sam’s eyes fluttered open, not truly asleep, it appeared, just patient, waiting. Letting Bucky decide.

And wasn’t that it? Sam always let Bucky decide. Asked him to get groceries, asked him to fix the sink, but never told. Only once had he forced him to sleep, and truly the grasp that day could have been so easily broken, Bucky knew it wasn’t an order, a suggestion. A hope. A hope that had grown out of the trust they had built between them. A hope that started long before he knew it would lead here.

So he met Sam’s brown eyes and leaned forward. His tongue darting across his lip, and his gaze darted down to Sam’s. He tilted his head and inched forward slowly, leaving Sam room to stop him, to push away. He stopped, leaving barely centimeters between them. Sam had let him do this, make every choice, every decision between them, but he needed Sam to be here too. He needed Sam.

Sam’s eyes fluttered closed as he leaned up and closed the last bit of space between them. The kiss was slow, lazy even. Nothing more than light pressure and the knowledge that they both wanted this. The kiss slowly turned to a press of two smiles together. Sam knit his fingers into the soft hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck.

It was gentle and easy. A promise of more. A trust built over months that culminated in this. “I love you.” Bucky said. “I’m in love with you.” He clarified.

“I’m in love with you too.” Sam replied under the soft rays of the morning, something new and bright to look forward to on the horizon.