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February 1st
The morning was brisk, snow still clung onto the grass from earlier fall. The cold hadn’t bothered Bucky much since he ran warm.
His daily morning runs, always with the company of Sam Wilson, relaxed him and set his mind for the day.
Bucky heard him before he felt him. Heavy heaves from tired lungs and a hand gripping Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky slowed and turned his head in concern, only for Sam to keep running ahead of him.
“That’s right. You get behind me, it’s black history month baby!”
Bucky, too shocked to say anything, carried on with his run. Notably, he stayed behind Sam, quite confused with the whole ordeal.
Little did he know at the time, his month would progressively get worse.
February 5th
At the grocery store, the boys were doing their weekly shopping for Sam’s specific needs and Bucky’s ungodly amount of food intake.
“Well, it’s a damn good thing we get paid for the stuff we do,” Sam mumbled as he pushed his full cart of groceries with Bucky’s right behind.
“Prices are still a shock to me,” Bucky comments.
It makes Sam huff out a laugh. “You’ve been out and about for how long?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky takes a second to look at their expansive shopping list. “Hey, can you pick up some cotton swabs for me?”
The request made Sam pause. Bucky looked up at Sam’s face.
“You want me to pick what?”
“Some… cotton swabs?” Bucky repeated, unsure if he was heard.
Sam stood up straight and brought a hand to his chest in the offense. “James Buchanan Barnes.”
Bucky shifted uncomfortably. “What?”
“Now I know I did not just hear you ask me to pick some cotton swabs?”
Bucky stood stock-still for a moment before realization dawned on him. “Oh, Sam, no—“
“I cannot believe this. My own friend—“
“Sam, listen—“
“During black history month? Of all months?” Sam continued with his cart which Bucky again followed behind him.
It took Bucky ten minutes of apologizing before he realized it was a joke. He still had to buy his own cotton swabs.
February 8th
Sam and Bucky have been on strange missions before, but not as strange as a man who used whips as a weapon of choice.
Sam flying overhead has the air advantage, while Bucky took the land. It was difficult to get close to a man who dual-wielded said whips, but the anticipated end would eventually come to fruition.
Bucky charged ahead, planning to tackle the man down, only to be hit in the face with an unsuspecting whip, sending him back five feet and on his back.
Bucky let out a grunt and growl of frustration. From his earpiece, he could hear Sam cackle.
“Don’t feel good don’t it?”
“That better not be a reference to anything,” Bucky said as he got off the ground.
“That’s what you get,” was all Bucky got in response.
It wasn’t often that Bucky and Sam got to report to Nick Fury, but it had turned out it was a case he personally wanted to oversee.
Fury, on seeing the healing welt on Bucky’s face, said plainly, “what goes around comes around, don’t it.”
A wide grin cracked on Sam’s face, while Bucky heaved a deep sigh.
February 14th
It was Bucky’s turn to make dinner that night and he had no complaints about the task, he, in fact, found it relaxing. Sam stayed in his room, leaving Bucky to create whatever protein-filled concoction he seemed to enjoy.
Bucky looked up from the stove when he heard Sam’s bedroom door open. Sam walked out like he was dressed to go out, Bucky slumped back his shoulders a bit.
“Where are you going, mister?”
“Going out for drinks with Joaquín,” Sam replied as he continued to fix himself up.
“Really?”
“Yup.”
“Even after I slaved over the stove to provide for us?” Bucky had quipped jokingly.
“After you what?” Sam responded nonchalantly.
“After I slaved over the stove,” Bucky repeated.
“What?”
“After I-” Bucky paused. Sam looked back at Bucky, a poorly hidden smile on his face. Bucky’s jaw quirked as he clenched his teeth. “Goddamnit Sam.”
“That’s what I thought,” Sam said as he walked off. “You have a good dinner Buck.”
“Yea you too,” Bucky mumbled as he made sure not to burn his food.
February 26th
A three-day mission was held with both Sam and Bucky trapped in the underground catacombs of an abandoned city. A cramped and uncomfortable experience for both of them, with only a tiny flashlight a hunch of intel that got them in the situation in the first place.
“Bucky- here you got the best eyesight. Are we in the right spot?” Sam asks as he flashes a light on a mapping device they had.
Bucky squints at the screen and lets out an exasperated sound. “I can’t see shit, it's dark man.”
“What do you mean by that?” Bucky heard from the pitch blackness to his side.
Bucky stayed silent as Sam moved the flashlight to illuminate his face, each expression stone still.
“We are not doing this here.”
“Doing what? Honestly, I just want to know exactly what you mean by that.”
“Sam, please I’m begging you, not while we are trapped in a literal cave,” Bucky begged.
Sam’s smile was evident for a split second before the light was pointed down again. “Yes sir, bossy.”
“You’re a menace, Wilson,” Bucky said as he tried to read what was in Sam’s hand.
“I know.”
March 1st
The weather was starting to warm with the last bits of snow starting to melt and permeate the grass. Something Bucky could enjoy while running, admiring the fresh buds springing for the new season.
Bucky was perfectly expecting a calm morning for a nice run. But again, he heard him before he could see him. Sam forces Bucky to slow down so that he can run ahead.
Off in the distance, he could hear Sam yell, “MELANIN MARCH BABY, WOO!”
Bucky knew the next thirty-one days of his life would be hell on earth, and he walked(ran) in with as much courage he could muster.