Chapter Text
"Sam," Bucky's tender voice pierces through the settled silence in the room. "Sam, look at me," he insists while lifting his right hand to cup the man's warm chin.
Sam begrudgingly forces his big brown eyes to lock onto Bucky's bright blues. He stills for a second -like he always does when he looks into those eyes.
"You're going to be alright. Everything is going to be completely fine," Bucky soothes while he lets his hand splay over the side of Sam's cheek. He didn't mean for the move to seem so intimate but everything within him hinted that this would be considered comforting.
"That's not what I'm worried about," Sam huffs and tears himself away from Bucky's surprisingly soft hands.
Instinctively, Bucky scoffed at Sam's stubbornness. He doesn't need to be able to read minds to be able to see through Sam's blatant lie. Sure, he'd have most people fooled with his steady tone and piercing gaze but Bucky learned to read his slightly quickened breaths and jerky moves. Sam is lying.
"Those people," Bucky continues as he settles both hands on Sam's tense shoulders. The two men pause, listening to the growing roars of unrest just outside and Sam forces himself to swallow the bile that begins to rise in his throat.
"They all love you," he sighs while squeezing gently on Sam's shoulders. The stubborn man rolls his eyes and lets an almost pained groan leave his lips. As he lolls his head back, Bucky can't help the way his eyes fall to the rising vein at the side of his neck.
"That's doesn't sound correct," Sam shoots back once he lifts his heavy head. His eyes are slightly wider now and Bucky knows that his attempts to calm the man down aren't working like he hoped.
"You've never been one to follow sound logic so I wouldn't trust your own word on that," Bucky jokes while still trying to lighten the mood.
Sam rolls his eyes -playfully this time- before he lifts his finger and points it at Bucky. "You don't know shit, man," he retorts with a light glint in his panicked eyes.
"I'm much older... and therefore wiser" Bucky shrugs as he drops his hands from Sam's shoulders.
The two shift around the room once they get the signal to be on standby.
Sam had been on countless missions -each one of them could have been his last, they could have ended his life, they could have marked his last breath, and they still pale in comparison to the rising anxiety he feels right now.
"You're gonna do great," Bucky chimes as they move swiftly up the stairwell, moving further away from the muddled sound of excited chatter and movement outside.
"This is going to be terrible," Sam whispers under his breath, barely aware of the super-soldier senses following closely behind him.
"When did you become such a pessimist?" Bucky shoots once they step onto the roof.
The air of the night slaps mercilessly against the two, but Sam welcomes the contrast against his hot skin. He barely gets to glance downward but he is sure that there are more than ten thousand people awaiting him. What if-
"You're not going to disappoint anyone. You are literally incapable," Bucky whispers once he joins Sam at his side.
Sam turns, freezing briefly at the close proximity. His left side almost doesn't feel the chill of the night's breeze anymore since Bucky's body acts as a radiator. He doesn't comment on the way the back of their hands brush against each other while he wills himself not to bounce of the balls of his feet.
"You don't know that," Sam says softly, suddenly so unsure of himself that his stomach feels queezy. Missions are so much easier than this. He's always had someone on his side, no one has ever looked at him and stated their unattainable expectations. But now, he's about to stand in front of way too many people, all projecting their ideals onto him. He isn't like that. He isn't a symbol like Steve was. He's just a man.
"I do," Bucky says so softly and earnestly that Sam almost stops hearing everything around him. All he can see is the small puff of heat that blows out from Bucky's words and all he can feel is the soothing heat at his side that he is suddenly grateful for despite the buckets of sweat beading out beneath his suit.
"Ten," Andy -one of the coordinators- speaks while signaling to Sam. He has ten seconds before his grand entrance.
Sam shakes his shoulders and clenches his jaw, forcing his game-face on. Bucky almost laughs at the shift but doesn't make any attempts to move away from him.
"Four, three," Andy calls
"That's my Captain America," Bucky hollars before Sam feels a soft 'smack' against his ass. It happens too quickly because immediately after, Andy signals for him to fly off and Sam finds himself falling off of a ten-story building though he can't hear the excited cheers over the blood rush to his ears.
Thank God for his darkened skin or everyone would see a deep tint of red splayed on his features. It shows in his too-bright smile though, and Bucky knows this when he catches the first glances of the glowing man on the monitor.
Two hours of non-stop action should have shaken the thoughts out of Sam's head, maybe. But he's always been a bit bull-headed despite being able to hide it amazingly. The flashing lights and onslaughts of questions from fans and critics alike don't do anything to shake his focus. He's still determined to find out-
"What the hell was that?" he asks Bucky's smiling face as soon as he is able to disappear from the scrutiny of the public. Bucky's smile doesn't falter, not even a little bit.
"What?" his brows furrow though. "You were amazing out there," Bucky laughs a little while he shifts and pats Sam's back. "I don't know who loves you more though, the kids or their moms," Bucky jokes while referencing the many -many- longing gazes of mothers handing off their children for quick photos.
Sam tries to keep the smile off of his face but he really can't. Despite this, he is still serious about his inquiry.
"That's not what I'm talking about," he tries to huff in order to keep his gracious smile off of his lips. The little praise goes a long way to ease his anxieties even after it's all over.
"Then what are you talking about?" Bucky leads Sam swiftly down corridors as they slip farther away from the commotion outside. The expo was much larger than Sam thought -not Bucky though. He knew since they started 'touring' that everyone would be this excited to meet Sam.
"The thing," Sam almost hisses just before he makes eye contact with a worker and shoots them a polite smile and a wave.
Bucky glances to his side and takes in Sam's tense shoulders and settled frown once they're alone again. He likes this suit, the white looks good on Sam. He's said it before and he's not afraid to say it again.
"I really don't know what you're talking about, pal," Bucky shrugs casually and Sam is so thrown off by the word 'pal' that he almost thinks he made the whole thing up in his head.
"Forget it, man," he grumbles as they make it out to the back. He knows that Bucky is going to drive back, he'd like the few minutes of silence that flying brings him anyway. "I'll see you back at my place," he dismissed before he activates his jetpack and is off into the night sky like the legend he is.
Bucky just shakes his head and laughs to himself -knowing exactly what Sam was talking about.
"Sargent," the chauffeur nods once Bucky slides into the backseat. Bucky nods in return and settles into the seats, tilting his head out of the window and watching the glowing spec that is Samuel Thomas Wilson grow smaller in the distance.
"He really needs to lighten up," Bucky mutters to himself as the car begins the short journey back.
By the time Bucky pulls up to Sam's condo, he is already halfway done in the shower with a frozen pizza in the oven. Bucky moves noiselessly around the space as he stops at the fridge to get some water.
Sam startles when he steps back into his living room to see Bucky taking the pizza tray out of the oven with his gloveless left hands.
The brunette lifts his eyes and offers a shirtless Sam a small smirk.
"Sorry to scare you," he says backhandedly but his tone is light and there is no real apology in there.
"You know," Sam huffs as he moves closer to the steaming atrocity, "regular people make noise when they move," he indiscreetly -but gently- shoves Bucky to the side so that he could access a piping hot slice of the grocery delicacy. He was far too hungry to actually cook something.
"Ehh," Bucky muses more to himself as he lifts his left hand between them. "It whirrs sometimes," he jokes before he lifts his eyes to catch Sam stubbornly breathing out of his mouth to cool the too-hot bite that he took.
Bucky can't help the snort that leaves him as he steps back and almost doubles over in laughter. Sam grunts in displeasure but also the inability to stop himself from laughing too.
"You could have waited," Bucky shoots as he stands upright to reach for a plate in the cupboards.
"No, I couldn't," Sam shoots back as he glides behind Bucky to move to the fridge. For a brief moment, their bodies brush together -Sam's front against Bucky's back and Sam almost chokes at the contact.
Bucky pretends not to feel it -but really, the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end as a chill runs down his spine. Neither of them brings it up. It's not the first time their bodies have touch and -if either of them has any real say in the matter- it won't be the last. However, this one felt different from all the other times they've been jammed in tight spaces or thrown into each other.
This time was soft and gentle and so domestic that it almost didn't matter.
"I'd like one too, please," Bucky says softly as Sam reaches for a beer in the fridge.
"No," the man huffs while taking out the 2nd one discreetly.
Bucky just smiles to himself while plating both of their slices onto separate plates. By now, Sam has powered through his first burning slice and is set on finishing all that he could stomach before it got even lukewarm. Frozen pizza is best served directly from hell.
Bucky doesn't mind the temperature, it's better than Depression Food -as he calls anything that reminds him of the 30s.
"So," Sam begins once they settle on a mindless sitcom on the TV. For some reason, it's noiseless, black and white silent acting that doesn't hold Sam's attention more than Bucky's side profile does.
Still, Bucky's eyes stay pinned on the TV. He can almost swear that the faces of the two main actors look incredibly familiar -but he pins it on the fact that the show was probably made in the 30s. Maybe he's seen this one before.
"So," Bucky hums to let Sam know that he's listening without having to avert his gaze from the bright smile of the woman on screen.
"We're not gonna talk about it?" Sam pries after taking a swing of his beer.
"I know I'm not the first man to do that, Samuel," Bucky mumbles with a small laugh. "You've been in the army."
Sam sighs and resigns to himself in his head. The possibility was the first rational thought he had when he was wracking his brain to make sense of it. Yeah, since high school when he played baseball, guys in the locker room would smack each other's asses. It didn't mean anything then. It didn't mean more than 'good luck' or 'good job' in the army, but maybe he was hoping it was different now.
He shook his head and let out a small sigh. There was no way that Bucky thought of him as anything more than a co-worker anyway.
"Just, don't make it weird," he ended up saying though he didn't really mean to.
Only now does Bucky rip his gaze from the Tv and turn his head. His eyes lock with Sam's earnest brown ones and he can see that he didn't mean to come off that abrasive anyway -so, he just smiles.
"I'm not the one making it weird, Sammie," Bucky flashes his million-dollar smile and throws his arm over the back of the couch.
Sam clenches his jaw to stop his smile but settles back into the couch a little more than he consciously intends to.