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“I should have a change of clothes for you all here.”
Bucky barely heard Sharon’s words. He was barely present at all. Morphing back into the Winter Soldier to do Zemo’s bidding on a lead had taken its toll. Going through the motions of his former self had been too easy. Too natural.
He knew the work Shuri had done to erase the hold of his programming had been effective, but it didn’t erase the fear that something had been missed. Sometimes he thought he felt it — the compliant machine beneath the surface, biding its time to strike once again. It was an irrational fear embedded in his trauma, in losing control and hurting the ones he cared for, but it felt real all the same.
Sharon and Zemo were mere silhouettes in Bucky’s vision from where he stood. Sam was clearer in his eyes, but not quite sharp. “Give us a second,” Sam said to them, but his voice was distorted to Bucky’s ears, distant and low.
He watched, puzzled, as the silhouettes disappeared from the hall, dispersing into the depths of the apartment. Bucky’s mind was spinning. His ears were still ringing with gunfire. He could still see the fear settling into the eyes of those he fought, the sheer terror he had come to recognize in all his victims. But where there had once been a silent elation at successful missions, there was only dread.
A hand settled on his shoulder, and Bucky was hurtled back to reality. He tensed underneath the touch, but it was only Sam. Suddenly, he was acutely aware that they were alone in a tight hallway.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” he forced out.
Sam didn’t miss a beat. “You don’t have to lie to me.”
He tore his eyes away from Sam’s and let out a bitter laugh. “Sam, it’s okay,” he insisted, exhaustion heavy in his tone.
“No, it’s not.”
Bucky sighed. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s not.”
Sam’s hand cupped his cheek. His breath caught in his throat at the tenderness in the touch, and he met Sam’s gaze.
“Hey, talk to me.” His voice was pleading.
He was struck by Sam’s touch. He didn’t like allowing others to touch him. He was always brought back to the cold touch of foreign doctors, the harsh sting of enemy hands against flesh. And he was always too afraid that something in him would finally crack at another’s touch that would unleash something terrible. He only allowed Steve to get close enough since he knew Steve could hold his own against him if push came to shove. But Steve was long gone, and Sam was there, his hand pressed against his cheek and his eyes brimming with concern.
And there was no animalistic, bloodthirsty response. There was no rushing nausea that came with the memory of prodding hands and knife’s edges. There was only Sam.
Bucky felt the relief first, and then the sadness that he felt relief at all. He was human . Why was it a consolation to experience such a reminder?
His eyes burned, and he was struck by that, too. He’d buried so much under the facade that he was fine. And it was coming to the surface all at once.
“Hey,” Sam said gently, “you’re okay.”
The interaction was far out of depth of what he was used to with Sam, but he didn’t mind it. Steve had been the only one who had believed in Bucky’s goodness, but Sam had stood by him. Maybe Sam could see the same glimmer that Steve had, the same one Bucky couldn’t see for himself. Steve might have left him, but he’d left him with Sam. He’d known that Bucky would be okay with him. And maybe he was right.
Bucky studied the lines of Sam’s face, the welcome warmth of his eyes. How long had he pushed him away? How long had he swallowed his words and isolated himself? Forced himself to be on his own? All the while the man before him had knocked on his door to no reply, time and time again, because he cared. Because he believed in him, even when Bucky himself couldn’t.
You’re alone, Dr. Raynor had said.
Bucky knew he didn’t have to be.
Not with Sam.
It was only when Sam cupped his cheek with his other hand that he realized he was crying. He couldn’t recall how it had happened, and he was surprised that it had slipped by his usual defense. If anyone was going to see such vulnerability, he was glad it was Sam. He had seen him at his worst once. He must know where the tears stemmed from.
A part of him still wanted to shield himself from the emotional display, but Sam paid no mind to this. He stepped closer to him and wiped at the tears with his thumbs, staining them across his cheeks. He grasped at Sam’s wrist.
“Hey, you’re safe, alright?” Sam’s voice was a low whisper. “You’re not going to do that again.”
Bucky shook his head. His voice wavered. “We don’t know that. What if Zemo—?”
“If Zemo says we need it, I’ll tell him he can take his lead and shove it up his ass.”
Bucky smiled slightly.
“I’m serious, Buck,” Sam insisted. “We’ll find another way. I’m not letting him put you through that again.”
He scoffed lightly. “I’m sure he’ll love that.”
“I don’t care,” Sam said. “You’re more important than some measly intel.”
Bucky met his gaze. He was struck by Sam’s words, the magnitude of them. It was never personal, Zemo had said, you were simply a means to a necessary end. For a long time, Bucky had believed he was created for one thing and one thing alone: destruction. He would live and die by it, and his purpose in this world would forever be shadowed by it. And here Sam was, showing him it was everything but the truth.
He nodded, his throat strained as he tried to hold back a fresh set of tears. How could Sam think so highly of him, after everything he’d done?
“I’m sorry,” Sam said suddenly.
“What for?”
“For letting him put you through that at all. We’re supposed to look out for each other. I should’ve been better at that.”
Bucky shook his head. “I agreed to do it.”
“That doesn’t mean I couldn’t have said something.”
“That’s not on you, Sam. Trust me.”
Sam clenched his jaw, but nodded. Bucky smiled and caressed his thumb against the inside of Sam’s wrist in reassurance. “So much for never wanting to see me again,” he murmured.
Sam exhaled, partly relieved. “I guess that wasn’t as true as I thought.”
“You’re an asshole.”
Sam released his hands from his face, and Bucky immediately missed the warmth and comfort of them. “Oh, I’m an asshole now?” Sam asked lightly. “Well, I’m an asshole that’s looking out for you, that’s for damn sure.”
Bucky’s lips curved up into a hint of a smile. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For helping. For caring.”
Sam shrugged. “That’s what friends are for.”
“Friends,” Bucky repeated. The word felt strange on his tongue.
“You don’t like the sound of that?”
Bucky thought about lying, but he didn’t have the energy for more of it. He’d lied through the night already by insisting he was okay. He wasn’t going to keep it up now.
“No.”
The words were a shot in the dark. For a moment, Sam only stared at him. Bucky feared he’d said the wrong thing, that perhaps he’d misread his intent. But then, Sam said, “Yeah, neither do I.”
Oh.
Oh.
Bucky blinked. He waited for some sort of refute, something to prove that this was another joke Sam was playing on him. But Sam wouldn’t joke about such a thing, and with the way he was staring at him, Bucky knew he was serious. His eyes widened as the realization settled over him.
“I’m such an idiot,” he breathed.
“One-hundred and six,” Sam commented. “You’re bound to be.”
Bucky would have laughed and jabbed his own response in any other situation. But this wasn’t any other situation because Sam Wilson had practically confessed he felt something for him. His hands were trembling and he closed them into fists at his sides to steady them. There didn’t seem to be enough air in the world to accommodate the amount of oxygen he suddenly needed.
“I…” He inhaled. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything.”
And then, to his astonishment, Sam leaned forward and captured his lips in his. He made a gentle hum of surprise against Sam’s lips, but he responded eagerly. He felt the gentle brush of Sam’s hand against his neck, and he shuddered. The pressure of Sam’s lips against his was a rush of adrenaline, of bliss, and he wondered how he’d never taken the risk before. For a brief moment, he felt like he did in 1943, delighting in stolen kisses in shadowed corners and the wave of euphoria that came with each one. But there was no stealing here, nor hiding; it was out in the open, and it was all the more liberating for it.
“I’m a little out of practice,” he offered, “I haven’t done this since 1943–”
“Bucky?”
“Mhm?”
“Shut up.”
And Sam gripped the nape of his neck and pulled him into another kiss. This one was less gentle than the rest, and it left Bucky near breathlessness. His mind had gone blank. He was reduced to nothing but the force in Sam’s kiss, the pure desire behind each intentional caress and brush of them against his. And then, Sam pulled away and the world came into focus once again.
Bucky blinked, stunned. “How long have you been waiting to do that?”
Sam took his bottom lip between his teeth. “Longer than I’m willing to admit.”
Bucky only stared at him in disbelief. Sam paused and glanced down the hallway, then returned his gaze to Bucky. “We should get back.”
Bucky nodded slowly as he gathered himself. Sam turned to go. He was just climbing up the few steps to the rest of the apartment when Bucky cut in, “You know, I’m going to make you hate me more because of this, right?”
Sam turned back toward him, and he offered him a smile. “I’m counting on it, Barnes,” he called. He turned his back to him and walked up the last few steps. “You’re nothing without your insufferability.”
With a smug smile, Bucky turned on his heel and followed Sam toward the others. Friends, he couldn’t work with. Whatever this was, was more like it.