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Some days Sam feels like he’d inherited Bucky from Steve along with the shield. It’s not a thought he’s proud of. People aren’t objects to be owned, but Bucky had been an object, or treated like one at least, for seventy-some odd years. To think of him like an inheritance now feels...like a betrayal of Sam’s own moral code, Steve’s loyalty, and Bucky’s hard-won freedom.
But he still thinks it.
Bucky and the shield.
If the shield is the symbol of Captain America the hero, Bucky is more a symbol of Steve Rogers the man. (But Bucky’s not a symbol, he’s a deeply irritating, deeply traumatized person.) The shield is like a package that looks small enough to pick up with one hand, but can only be hefted with both hands, preparation, and a commitment to the strain. Bucky, by contrast, is like that oddly shaped package, not heavy exactly: just awkward to carry and impossible to maneuver into a home without bumping into walls and smashing keepsakes.
Both packages left on his doorstep through a bizarre sequence of events that started with a morning jog in D.C. Inherited along with the expectations of the entire world. Sometimes Sam feels like very little in his life is his anymore. It’s all an inheritance from Captain America.
Strange, how Steve’s absence is so much heavier than his presence. Sam’s aware that he’s seen as Cap’s Black friend and little more than that in some people’s eyes. But Steve never treated him like a subordinate, a side-kick, or even a protege. Steve worked very hard to make sure Sam knew he didn’t think like that, or take Sam’s friendship and support for granted. It’s something Steve had learned from his years with Bucky as a Howling Commando, he’d told Sam once.
“I didn’t anticipate our friendship would change when my body did,” he’d told Sam once, when they were still searching the globe for Bucky. “I didn’t realize how much Bucky had built his, I guess you’d call it his identity now, on being Steve Roger’s protector. On being the strongest man in the room. To be always be on the right hand of glory, after, was hard for him. He never said anything, but I could tell he felt left-behind. I don’t want you to feel like that too. I know I cast a large shadow.”
“Not a problem,” Sam had replied, shoulder-checking Steve. “I’ll just fly above your big-ass shadow. Even if I’m behind you, I won’t be in shadow.”
But now Steve is gone, and Sam is left with only the public perception and the memory of respect. He’s the chosen successor to Captain America’s legacy, to Steve’s legacy. And that legacy includes Bucky.
Bucky, who doesn’t seem to like him very much. Their abrasive rapport started as a weird mix of mutual wariness, mutual jealousy, conflicting personalities, Steve’s obvious desire for them to like each other, and being stuck in too-damn-small car for too-damn-many hours. And...he didn’t want to be the Winter Soldier’s counsellor. Didn’t want Steve...or Bucky for that matter...to think he was interested in stepping into that role. Didn’t want himself to slip into that role by default instincts. So he deliberately wasn’t gentle with Bucky the way he’d been gentle with Steve.
(That gentleness seeps out anyway.)
And after Steve left, he didn’t want Bucky to think he was trying to be Steve to him, so the abrasiveness continued. And yet...there’s an understanding between them, a connection formed by being the only two people left alive who truly knew both Steve Rogers and Captain America. (Sam misses Nat with an intensity that surprises him.) Sam doesn’t want to be Steve with Bucky, but he wouldn’t mind being Sam with Bucky.
But Bucky is, in addition to being a deeply traumatized person, also an annoyingly private person. He doesn’t reciprocate any of Sam’s gestures or outreach. Phone calls go unanswered, texts unread, visits avoided. Sam isn’t stupid: Bucky either doesn’t have the desire or energy to be Sam’s friend after Steve. And Sam has enough on his plate without chasing down the former-POW/brainwashed assassin. Again.
So he doesn’t push it.
He still feels responsible, like taking care of Bucky is a natural extension of his loyalty to Steve. He hates that, for himself and for Bucky. He isn’t obligated to drop his identity to be the caretaker of Steve’s and Bucky isn’t an object or pet to be inherited. (He knows Steve didn’t mean it that way, that the shield was a sign of respect and trust. But Steve’s mere absence changes the symbols.)
No. If he takes up the shield or forges a relationship with Bucky, it wouldn’t be as an understudy for Steve. It would be as himself, as Sam Wilson. As the person Steve thought worthy. As a Black man. To assume the legacy of Captain America would be to alter it. It’s what Steve meant, he thinks. A personal and public gesture of trust in the worth of Sam Wilson and every facet of his identity and life-experience. Modern soldier. Black man. VA counsellor. Brother. Son.
And that...that’s gonna be work. That’s gonna be hard. There’s so much weight on that shield, so many expectations pressing in on that helmet. A modern Black Captain America wouldn’t be given the same goodwill and instinctive trust that a white man who fought Nazis was given. He’d have to work harder for every shred of respect and trust.
And Bucky? He’s still not sure why Bucky’s not jealous that he wasn’t given the shield. Still isn’t sure if he likes Bucky for his own sake, or just as a connection to Steve. Isn’t sure if Bucky even considers him as a person in his own right, or just a connection to Steve. Bucky’s withdrawn from Sam, and he can’t tell if it’s an exercise of independence or mistrust; either way, he just doesn’t have the energy for it.
It’s all too much.
Sam gives up the shield and he doesn’t tell Bucky first. Doesn’t text Bucky again.
If Bucky and the shield are an inheritance, maybe they’re the kind you pass on to humanity at large. Steve’s trust is precious, but, like so much of Steve, out-of-its-time. “Sorry brother,” he whispers to an empty leather case and unreturned texts. “Maybe my best is not to try. Maybe the shadow is too long in this case.” He tries not to hear the echo of his own words.
“Not a problem. I’ll just fly above your big-ass shadow.”