Chapter Text
“Why can’t you just accept a little bit of happiness in your life, huh?! No, it’s always gotta be hard with you!” Sam snapped, pulling his hand back to rest them on his hips as he shifted about in restless feet. He was so frustrated but he couldn’t let it out and it left him pacing on the spot with no direction.
“This isn’t about happiness, Sam, because it’s not there! It doesn’t exist! This was never real!” Bucky shouted right back, arms outstretched as if to put Sam’s flat on display. To show that nothing in it had changed since day one.
“You take that back right now.” Sam snarled, barging into Bucky’s space with red bloodshot eyes. He jabbed a finger into Bucky’s chest. “This, this was real. I know it was real because I was there! And so we’re you. And now you’re just too scared to admit it, so you’re running away.” Sam’s eyes burned, and he stepped back, sniffing as he shook his head. “Steve would have given everything, he did give everything, for something like this.”
“You don’t get to bring Steve into this!” Bucky snapped.
“He was my friend too, Bucky, he wasn’t just yours!” Sam shook with his anger, his sadness, his pain, but he never let himself form a fist. As desperately as he wanted to, knocking sense into Bucky wasn’t the way.
“Steve wouldn’t care, Sam! He doesn’t care! He— he decided so the moment he went back.” Bucky gritted his teeth, his own eyes growing misted.
“Steve went back because he saw a future with the woman he loved— and it hurt, Bucky, it will always hurt to be without him, but all I’m asking of you is to see a future with me !” Sam’s throat bobbed with a suppressed sob, blinking rapidly as he turned away from Bucky to hide his pitiful tears. He didn’t want Bucky to see him cry, it was like admitting defeat.
“...There’s no future for us.” Bucky whispered, looking tired and worn and so much older than his body was. “Sam...”
“Get out.” Sam stated, firm, with a hand up to stop Bucky from reaching for him. “Just... get out. Please.”
“Sam... Don’t waste your tears on some like me—“
“I will not be placated by an asshole with commitment issues, Buck. You made your choice, now you stick to it. Walk out that door. And don’t come back unless it’s for something other than whatever this is.” Sam’s jaw clenched shut with more resolution than he felt.
Bucky was quiet as he grabbed his jacket off the hook of the front door. Sam could feel those guilty, puppy blue eyes on him but he refused to turn around until he heard the front door click shut.
And he crumbled. He slid to the floor and curled his knees to his chest and sobbed heavy and harsh because everything inside him suddenly felt like thick tar, the inky black loneliness that was held off by Bucky’s smile suddenly sprung back into his veins.
Sam felt empty yet full of a sick feeling, of acidic sadness.
Why had he been stupid enough to let Bucky crash and burn into his life?
—
“What’re you gonna do with it?” Bucky asked softly, looking off over the lake with a solemn expression. Sam felt a similar sullenness in his bones. He grazed his fingertips over the rim of shield. Even though it was ten times lighter than his wings, it felt like an iron anvil in his hand.
“I don’t know yet.” Sam admitted. He was still processing than Steve was... That Steve had given it to him. His legacy, in the hands of Sam Wilson, an ordinary man who just had the tools to fly high. Could he ever live up to the memory of Captain America, of Steve Rogers, of all people?
“Well... I’ll be ready when you do.” Bucky stood a little taller, lips thin but eyes glinting with something Sam couldn’t place. Maybe resolution would fit it.
“You’ll be ready?” Sam ticked a single brow up at the soldier.
“Captain America always had a partner. You filled in for me for a while, so I guess I’m filling in for you this time.” Sam would have thought the words condescending if not for the small smile on Bucky’s face. The man took obvious pride in the title. He didn’t see Sam as Steve’s previous sidekick or lackey. He saw Steve and Sam as partners. And now he wanted to be Sam’s partner, the new Captain America’s partner.
“I don’t expect you to fight anymore, Buck. I know you’re tired.” Sam insisted, gripping the shield tighter. It still felt so unfamiliar in his hands. It wasn’t the same grip he’d take for his wings.
“The world just got saved. It’s readjusting. We have time to decide on a lot of things before the next big threat comes around.” Bucky cracked a wryly smile, squinting out at the lake. “I spent a long time finding myself again in Wakanda. I think it’s time to keep the ball rolling in the outside world too.”
Sam didn’t know what the feeling swelling in his chest was at first, but when it burst and spread a familiar warmth through him, he realised it was admiration. The same respect and joy he felt when he saw veterans under his care heal and work past their trauma.
It was a feelings that’s made Sam smile and saying something stupid.
“I want you to join me when I go back home. I want you there so you’re not alone.” Sam should have felt embarrassed, but he smothered it deep down. He didn’t want Bucky to regress by isolating. Bucky didn’t have anyone else. And when it came down to it; neither did Sam.
Bucky looked shocked at the offer, but he nodded slowly.
“Okay. I’ll follow wherever you go.” Bucky bowed his head softly in Sam’s direction before he turned to look back at the other guests closer to the house. He looked apprehensive to return.
“Let me talk to Rhodey, and I’ll get us a ride. There’s no point staying where we aren’t welcome.” Sam voiced the obvious insecurity in Bucky’s mind, the man looking away from his knowing eyes.
“That’s a good idea. Stark... He deserves to be surrounded by those he loves.” Bucky’s jaw tightened as he swallowed tightly. “I’ll be by the road when you’re ready. I don’t have anything to pack anyway.” Bucky walked away with that, hunched in on himself as he skirted around the party towards the exit to a main road.
Sam watched him go, flexing his hand around the handle of the shield.
—
Sam takes Bucky to the barber two days after they arrive to his hometown. Sam had watched Bucky anxiously skirt about children’s grabby hands and smile awkwardly at compliments from adults on it. Sam could see it growing into a negative trigger for the man with every passing hour.
So when he suggested to visit the town barber who just happened to be an old friend of his father, Bucky had agreed with little push back.
Bucky didn’t talk much with Clarence as the old barber rattled off about how life has been to Sam, snipping long locks away. Sam tried to stay without reach during the cut, noticing how uncomfortable Bucky looked as he stared into the mirror with foggy eyes.
Bucky’s eyes flickered down and away from his reflection when he felt Sam’s gaze. By the time the cut was done, Bucky’s hair had gone from shaggy to a charming swept back look.
“As spiffy as always, Clare-Bear!” Sam cracked with a toothy grin, patting the older man on the shoulder. “How much I owe you, brother?”
“I should charge you double for skipping out of church last visit.” Clarence tutted.
“You still on that, man?” Sam rolled his eyes.
“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, boy! Your father would be stricken if he knew you didn’t attend church on the regular. You rarely even show up for the Easter service!”
“Clare-Bear, you know I got a lot going on right now. But the lord will always be in my heart. I’ll even stop by for confessional before I leave, how about it?” Sam offered.
“One service, my boy. I beg of you, in memory of your old man.” Clarence gave Sam a sad yet disappointed gaze, looking heart broken by Sam’s absence in the church.
“Of course, Clarence. I’ll stop by on Sunday, okay? Save me a seat.” Sam soothed with a gentle smile.
“Could...” Sam and Clarence turned to Bucky, almost surprised to hear him speak for the first time in an hour. “Could you make that two seats?” Bucky asked hesitantly, looking at Clarence specifically. “It’s been... a long time since I’ve spoken with God.” He smiled ruefully.
“Of course, son, our church is always open to new comers and lost souls.” Clarence smiled fondly, crowfeet digging into his round cheeks. Sam smiled at the fatherly tone Clarence took with Bucky, resulting in a shy smile and nod from Bucky.
Clarence walked off to ring up the bill on the till, and Sam turned his focus to Bucky.
“How do you feel?”
“I... feel a lot. It’s hard to pin point what’s what feeling right now.” Bucky admitted with a weak shrug. “I didn’t know you believed in God.” Bucky turned the conversation onto Sam, not feeling ready to delve more into himself.
“I was raised into it. I wouldn’t say I don’t believe in God, but I’ll admit I don’t put as much faith into him as I used to. My father was a Reverend, and when he died... It was like my faith died with him.” Sam shrugged, not used to taking about his father.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Bucky said softly as he stood out of the barbers chair, stepping closer but not touching him. It was probably for the best, Sam felt like a sparking wire ready to zap someone when he spoke of his father.
“It’s been twenty years. Time goes on.” Sam shrugged it off, walking over to Clarence to pay, ignoring the blue eyes following him.
—
Sam stood outside the church after service that Sunday, waiting for Bucky. The man had asked to stay a few minutes longer, and Sam wasn’t going to push him for answers to why.
Instead Sam acknowledges and greets the people of his hometown; his old high school friends, his late Titi’s book club members, Sarah’s other mom friends. He listens to those who fret over him getting blipped, a few who mention how terrifying it was to be without their parents or children or friends for those five years.
By the time the church is practically empty and people have driven home, Sam is still waiting outside for Bucky. He’s seconds away from checking in on the man when he steps out, looking haggard and red around the eyes.
“Hey man. You good?” Sam let a gentle hand rest on Bucky’s shoulder and the man just shrugs. “Do you want to talk about it?” Bucky goes to shake his head, but he hesitates. Sam smiled softly in sympathy.
“You can talk to me if you need that, Bucky.” Sam promised, and Bucky sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.
“I used to hate church.” He finally said.
“What about church did you hate?” Sam mused, thinking of how boring the services could be.
“The pastor.” Bucky murmured.
“And why did you hate the pastor?” Sam rose a brow.
“Because he hated me. Because he had to send his son away because of me.” Bucky hummed, closing his eyes. “And he couldn’t tell a soul that it was my fault without damning his poor misguided son. So he always found a way to single me out in bible study or crack my hand with the cane.” Bucky’s lips tilted up in a weak grin.
“Damn bastard always told me I’d face divine retribution for my sins. I stood in that Church for almost an hour and I walked out fine. I slept with men. With married women. I had premarital sex more times than I can count. And I killed people for 70 years. Tortured them, shot them, choked them. Makes me wonder if God really cares in the first place.” Bucky let out a humourless laugh, gaining a tremble to his features.
“Oh, man, Bucky...” Sam slipped his arm across the man’s shoulders to pull him closer, easing him into the touch. And Bucky fell into it with an edge of desperation, head tucked under his chin and forehead pressed against his chest as he shook with laughter that was all bitter and harsh.
“God never cared about me. If He had He wouldn’t have let any of this happen to me! He would have stepped in and saved me.” Bucky sniffed hard, choking on his sob as he bit his lip. “He never would’ve made me this way. He would’ve saved me, Sam.” He cried, voice cracking as tears dripped down his nose.
“Bucky...” Sam could feel his heart breaking in his chest as Bucky’s words. “Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. Maybe He gave you a second chance for a reason.” Sam ran his hand through Bucky’s hair, scraping nails against his scalp.
“And what reason would that be?” Bucky sniffled, wiping his tears with a shaking hand.
“I don’t know. But why waste it worrying about being saved? You’ve already been saved from the Winter Solider and Hydra. You’re no longer their hostage.” Sam pulled Bucky’s face away from his chest with gentle hands, looking into the man’s bloodshot eyes, tears still brimming along his waterline.
“And I don’t want you to ever think you need to be saved from love.” Sam said firmly in a hushed tone. “I don’t care if you’re gay, or bi, or queer. That doesn’t matter anymore. Times have changed. Some people will tell you you’re going to hell for it, but they only say it because they’re too scared to understand people who are different.”
“Yet God—“ Sam cut Bucky off.
“Would you think I need saving?”
“What?”
“I like men, Bucky. Do I look like I need saving?”
“I...” Bucky looked unsure, brows furrowed as he looked down. “No?” Sam was everything Bucky felt he wasn’t. Sam didn’t need saving; Sam was like Steve, righteous and brave and true.
“Then you don’t need to be saved either. Because if God really exists, then he made you this way for a reason. There is no sin in loving another human being, Bucky.”
Bucky is looking at Sam like he was prophet, spokesmen of the lord himself, and Sam feels vaguely uncomfortable at the notion. He didn’t want to be on a pedestal to Bucky. He wanted them on equal ground.
“I...I like men. And women. And it feels nice to love them. But it’s scary too.” Bucky whispered.
“Maybe this second chance can be the one you use to overcome that fear.” Sam smiled softly, pulling away gently from Bucky who takes in a deep breath like it’s the first in a long time.
“Yeah... Maybe.”
Bucky looked around at the empty church yard and Sam beckons him to follow Sam to the car. They had spent enough time reflecting with the lord as is.
—
It started on the drive back to Manhattan. One second it’s quiet, and then Bucky is asking him if he likes to drink. At first, Sam is confused because Steve didn’t drink, he couldn’t because of the serum. It makes him curious to if alcohol still affects Bucky.
So Sam makes the mistake of giving into the need to have a little fun and see Bucky unwind, pulling into the nearest bottle shop which is a dusty looking joint but sells the strong, aged stuff Sam hasn’t touched in a decade since Riley’s death.
Sam decided drinking for fun would be a lot more fun compared to drowning his sorrow like he did back then.
So fast forward a few hours later, and Sam is sitting in the backseat with Bucky, his legs swung over the elders as he laughs at a joke that wasn’t terribly good but is enough to make him snort when he’s smashed.
Bucky looks barely phased by the alcohol, but he’s smiling at Sam with a fond gaze and Sam decided that was enough. Getting out drank by a guy decades older than him was worth it.
Bucky’s poking him and Sam smacks his hand away, not really listening to his words but soaking in his voice and it’s so nice to let go for once. Sam had felt as coiled as a spring since he’d gotten back from being blipped.
“Sam,” Bucky is patting his shoulder this time, closer, and wow he smells surprisingly good, was that Sam’s body wash? He smelt like sandalwood and spice and musk and Sam could feel a small doping smile pulling at his lips at how nice it was for Bucky to smell like him. Bucky used to smell like metal and sweat and old paper when they first met and it’s such an improvement in Sam’s eyes. Bucky had smelt lonely and scared in the past.
Bucky was becoming apart of Sam’s life little by little and Sam wanted to cling to that thought.
“Mm?” He realised Bucky had called for his attention, resting his cheek on his fist as he looked lazily at the man.
“You should probably go to sleep.” Bucky spoke softly but firm, a hand subconsciously rubbing his thigh. Sam wanted to ignore the thrill of pleasure he felt at that touch. His thigh felt like it was burning under Bucky’s hand.
“I’m not tired.” Sam stated simply, closing his eyes with a hum.
“I’m sure.” Bucky teased, shifting to remove himself from under Sam’s legs but the man hooked a foot around his calf with a frown, hand reaching out to grip the collar on his shirt.
“Don’t go.” Sam slurred, feeling heat grace his cheeks. He sounded like a spoilt child but he didn’t want Bucky to leave him. He didn’t want them to be lonely again.
“I’ll just be in the front seat, Sam.” Bucky tried to pacify him with that but Sam shook his head softly.
“Stay.” Bucky sighed as he stilled, hand still rubbing gently into the muscle of his thigh.
“Okay. Just get some rest, Sam.” Sam hummed in agreement, head slowly falling from his hand to the back of seat as he drifted off, foot still hooked around Bucky’s calf. If his face ends up resting in the crook of Bucky’s neck that night, a gentle hand running up and down his back, he isn’t the wiser.
When Sam woke the next morning, it was alone, but warm, and he vaguely questioned why Bucky had slept in the front seat instead of kicking Sam out of the back like he usually would.
Bucky simply smiled, turning the key into the ignition as the sun began to peak above the thick forest of trees.
“I’ll drive today.” And nothing else was said as Sam nursed his headache.
—
“Brooklyn has... changed.” Bucky was disgruntled by this information, even though he knew realistically that it would.
“You know, my hometown wasn’t always the same either. Things change with time; we just gotta learn to navigate it all over again.” Sam clapped a firm hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Now, how about we go about and you can complain about what’s missing from where.” He jibed with a teasing grin, which Bucky glared at.
“Everything.”
“Then it’s a good thing my schedule is empty because this’ll take a while.” Sam let his arm wrap around his shoulders, urging the man to walk with him amongst the crowded town. It was an early business morning so it was mostly just suits running around to nab the nearest taxi or bus to work.
And Bucky remembers a weird amount in his complaints as they walk around for hours, not straying from Sam’s hold even as he spat it at his favourite dinner as a kid being well and truly gone in favour of an apartment building.
“Maybe you should just retire in that building.” Sam joked as Bucky fumed.
“I— I probably should find a place.” Bucky realised, surprised at not having thought of it before. “But I don’t exactly have a steady income. I’ve been living in abandoned apartments or Wakanda since I left Hydra.”
“I’ll see what can be done about that. Rhodey might be able to get you on a veteran pension. I don’t think you’re ready to start working with others just yet.” Sam didn’t want to admit that most places would probably turn Bucky away given his history and lack of knowledge of the modern workplace. That was a bridge they could cross later on down the road.
“I... thanks. What about you?” Bucky turned away from the building to look at Sam with curious eyes.
“What about me?”
“Where do you live?” Sam almost laughed at the question, stifling it.
“Man, I was a fugitive. I haven’t had an actual place since I met Steve.” He snorted. “I used to have a nice house, good neighbourhood, but it’s probably long since been handed over to someone else. They probably sold all my furniture by the time we got blipped.”
“Oh.” Bucky frowned, looking sullen on Sam’s behalf.
“I don’t really care. The world moved on without us. I got a second chance to start over and find a new place, new furniture. I actually enjoy house hunting and raiding IKEA.” He grinned. He clapped Bucky on the back and made his way up to the door of the apartment building.
“Sam? Sam, where are you going?” Bucky quickly followed, looking a little hesitant to walk into the unfamiliar building that used to be a focal point in his childhood.
“I’m house huntin’.” Sam sent Bucky a cheeky grin, slipping inside. He saw an older lady checking her mail and tapped her shoulder gently. She jumped, turning around and squinting at him behind thick rimmed glasses.
“Jeffery?”
“Uh, no, sorry. I’m Sam. I was actually wondering if the owner of the building was in? I was hoping to see if there was any empty spaces for a man like myself.” Sam gave his most charming smile, the older lady glancing behind him to look at Bucky and then back to Sam.
“Oh dear, we don’t discriminate here, don’t you worry.” She took his larger hand in her frail one, patting the top of his in a way that reminded Sam of the book club ladies back home.
Oh, this lady thought...
“Oh, no, we’re, uh. I’m glad you don’t but we aren’t like that.” Sam laughed, shaking his head with mirth as he held her hand gently between his. “But thank you, regardless. Is the owner in?”
“You’re looking at her!” She said in a chirper tone. “Ms Dells at your service, young man. The building used to be my husbands but he passed away just before the blip. If it weren’t for the lovely people here I don’t think I would have kept the building up this long.” She shook her head with a tut. “Enough about me, how can I help you, boys?”
Bucky shifted in discomfort, glancing at Sam. Sam just grinned.
“We’d love to get a place here, Ms Dells.”
—
After a phone call to Rhodey, Sam found his bank account unfrozen, already pardoned. It had been the first thing Rhodey did. Bucky was ordered to go to mandatory therapy though if he was to be pardoned and stay in America.
Bucky wasn’t happy about it, grumbling, but his reluctant agreement got him a pension, bank account, proper identification and permanent citizenship. It meant he could legally stay by Sam’s side without causing him trouble, and he needed to be there. Sam was to be Captain America after all.
(Bucky wouldn’t admit it, but it was more than that. It was Sam’s smile as he grabbed ugly throw pillows from Target to litter his tacky new couch with, it was Sam’s snort at Bucky’s new wardrobe filled with funky button down ‘dad shirts’, and it was Sam’s eyes slowly changing from narrowed with irritation to squinting with fondness when he argued with Bucky over the colour of his newly acquired plates and the size of his tiny bowls, that made Bucky want to stay).
The apartment was under Sam’s name, so Bucky considered it Sam’s, it only had one bedroom after all, but Sam never complained about Bucky sleeping on his floor or his ugly patterned couch. Sam seemed to understand when he found Bucky on the floor, not asking why, and Bucky thanked him silently for it.
Bucky and Sam both had very few personal possessions after all the time they both missed, resulting in a very minimalistic (“and ugly, seriously Sam, stop buying every ugly piece of furniture you can get your hands on.”
“They need a home, Buck, who else will love them?”) household.
Practically moving in together while Bucky saved up his pension to get his own place didn’t stop Sam from complaining about Bucky’s socks throw around the place or Bucky from complaining about the clutter of bottles on the bathroom counter
(“You have two bottles of the same damn thing in different scents, Sam.”
“Sometimes I wanna smell like a man and other times I wanna smell fruity, get off my back!”)
or god forbid who did the dishes that night. Sam had insist they get it done nightly and not just when they started pouring out of the sink.
Somehow, they had settled into an easy push and pull dynamic. While Bucky read up on the classics he missed and any big time fantasy novels he could find in the nearby library curled up on the couch, Sam would take to pushing aside their dining table and using the extra space to train with secondhand weights and catch up on cardio he couldn’t get on the field. He was still waiting for someone higher up to call, to give him something to do, so he was a little restless. He missed the feeling of soaring through the air.
“Do you have to train right there?” Bucky piped up, closing his book with a sigh. “Some of us are trying to read.”
“What?” Sam scoffed, bare chest heaving as he wiped the sweat from his hands on his shorts to grasp his weight better. “Am I distracting you?” Sam grinned over his shoulder at Bucky with a flutter of his lashes, turning back to squat down and lift the weight up with each raise of his body.
Bucky didn’t respond and Sam rolled his eyes. What a grumble guts. Can’t even take a joke.
“If I’m bothering you that much, why don’t you go read in my room?” Sam huffed. His bedroom was cut off from the open space that contained his living room, dining room and kitchen. The small bathroom was next to it as a seperate room.
“...Okay.” Sam felt his shoulders jolt slightly in surprise at how close Bucky’s voice was, low and deep and curling something hot in Sam’s gut. He whipped around to look over his shoulder but found the man was already heading towards his bedroom.
Sam heard the door click behind Bucky and felt his body tremble with the exhale that left him. He willed the heat away from his face as he squatted down to place the weight down, collapsing onto the side of his thigh as he caught his breath. Sam groaned as he laid back on the cool floor.
His head lolled to the side, pressing his cheek against the sleek wooden flooring. His eyes caught the shield that rested in the corner of the room, collecting dust. His eyes dropped shut with a sigh, turning away from its glaring blue, red and white.
Bucky was here for a reason.
Sam couldn’t just forget that.