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Sam knows the date like he knows his nephew's birthdays, like he knows the day they graduated the academy, like he knows the back of his hand.
The anniversary of Riley's death, Sam takes off from any and all responsibilities and holes up in his apartment. Sarah wanted him to come home this year, but he doesn't want the boys to see him like this.
Sam sleeps until the nightmares wake him, then he stands in the shower until the water runs cold.
When he gets out of the bathroom, mostly numb and partially dissociated, Bucky fucking Barnes is standing in his kitchen.
"I thought you were in DC this week," Sam says, his voice flat.
"I got done early." Bucky scoops scrambled eggs onto a plate. "Grits are almost done."
"You made grits."
Bucky hears the incredulity Sam can't put into his tone.
"I got Sarah to teach me how she makes them," he explains, voice soft. "Get dressed and then you can eat."
When Sam walks into his miniscule bedroom, the bed is made with fresh sheets and the backup comforter. His softest sweatpants and one of Bucky's stupid-soft running hoodies are laid out on the bed.
Bucky snuck into the apartment with food and clothes for Sam, because he knew it was the anniversary.
Sam's fog breaks and the sorrow rolls over him in waves.
He's only half-dressed when Bucky comes to find him, sobbing on the corner of the bed with the hoodie in his hands.
Bucky sits beside him and wraps an arm around his shoulder. Sam buries his face against him as sobs wrack his body.
When he goes quiet, Bucky wipes his face with the discarded towel.
"C'mon, man, let's get you dressed." Bucky guides the hoodie over his head and helps him put his arms through the sleeves.
Sam goes where Bucky puts him, too exhausted to care.
"Let's try and eat. The grits have gone cold, but I can make another batch."
Sam ends up sitting at the counter as Bucky remakes breakfast, drinking orange juice when he remembers it's in his hand.
"He was my life partner as well as my wingman," Sam says eventually, once he's had some (surprisingly good) food in his system. "I lost the love of my life. I couldn't catch him."
Bucky doesn't say anything, but he also doesn't make any of the usual faces Sam gets when people feel sorry for him.
So, Sam keeps talking. And talking.
Eventually, Sam talks himself out, and Bucky guides him back to bed.
"Are you leaving?" Sam asks, mostly asleep.
"I'm not going anywhere," Bucky says, and it feels like a promise.
...
Bucky closes the door to Sam's bedroom, goes to the kitchen, and starts to clean the mess he's made.
The tears he's been holding back for hours flow as he loads the dishwasher and washes the pots and pans.
To Sarah Wilson: Thank you for the help. He ate everything I made.
From Sarah Wilson: Thank you for taking care of our Sam.
To Sarah Wilson: Always.