Chapter Text
Bucky had no idea at the time, of course, but everything important between him and Sam began on the same day he and Steve became a couple. It hadn’t seemed like much of a special day when he met Sam for dinner at one of the restaurants both of them were always talking about trying out but neither of them ever seemed to get around to visiting. Sam was the first friend that Bucky made in Brooklyn, several years back when he was just a young kid on the cusp of adulthood desperate to escape the small town he grew up in and all its expectations. No matter how busy things got between school and working to afford a too-small city apartment, Bucky always made time for the idiot who’d taken him under wing and showed him just how different life could be with a little freedom.
The last thing he’d expected that day was to have their casual dinner interrupted by the explosive entrance of his childhood best friend from three states away. Out of breath and wild around the eyes, Steve looked even bigger in person than he usually did through Bucky’s shitty laptop camera. Skype had definitely been downplaying his growth spurt.
“Christ, I thought I’d have to walk this city end to end to find you and then I just looked in a random window and here you are!”
“Here I am,” Bucky had echoed him, still thrown from the unexpected appearance of someone he couldn’t exactly say he never expected to see again. He’d left town, not disappeared off the face of the earth, it had only ever been a matter of time before someone caught up to him. It was still weird, though. He’d thought, if anything, he’d have to vacation back home in Indiana for them to reunite. Steve wasn’t a big city guy. But suddenly he was there and he was talking really fast.
“I’m sorry to just- I know you weren’t- Okay here it is: I’m in love with you, Buck. I always have been. Being so far away from you has been a nightmare. Everyone back home got tired of my moping and they all pitched in to help me get a ticket out here and I, well, I’ve got to take my chance, don’t I? Please, please tell me you know how I feel!”
The only thing Bucky could think to say was a half-choked, “Yeah.” And it wasn’t a lie. He’d always sort of known how Steve felt about him, grew up seeing all the adults around them giggling behind their hands at the two of them and murmuring none too quietly about how it was only a matter of time, it was meant to be, it was always gonna be SteveandBucky until the end of the line. He’d moved away from all of that without ever truly believing he would escape it, a desperate restless need inside of him to see what else the world had to offer before he got locked down in to small town life forever. Now here it was all catching up to him in typical dramatic fashion.
What really changed the course of things was the way Steve’s entire body lit up like he’d been handed everything he ever wanted just before he lunged down to crash their lips together in an admittedly knee-weakening first kiss.
“I knew it,” he warbled over the noise of the other restaurant patrons clapping. “I knew you felt the same!”
So that was how Steve and Bucky became SteveandBucky after an entire childhood of being told it would happen someday. All the reasons Bucky moved out here to the big city felt small and far away but, like an instinct, he’d looked first to Sam in that moment, a port in the storm that was washing over him. It would occur to him only much later how strange it was that seeing the oddly calm and encouraging smile on Sam’s face was what finally made Bucky feel like that moment was real, like he was going to be okay. He wouldn’t understand just how twisted that was for quite a long time.
Not until three years later, three years spent sharing a bed with Steve, listening to the man plan out their lives together for the next several decades, putting off the rest of his schooling in favor of finding a second job to help pay for the little townhouse Steve talked him in to after only six months. It was a decent three years. Bucky felt mostly calm and easy for those three years. He didn’t exactly roll out of bed fit to bursting with joy every day but neither was he weighed down by any terrible sadness and so he figured that he’d made it. Surely this was the happy existence everyone told him he should be chasing. Right?
Between Sam and Steve he’d managed to expand his social group a little further since those two forces of nature finally met but one of the only additions he’d actually grown fond of was Clint Barton. Bucky was almost always happy to hear from Clint and normally Clint was always happy to hear from him in return. When Bucky called the man on a random Friday he was expecting at best to be invited for drinks. At worst to be told to bugger off while Clint charmed his way through another emergency room visit, as happened with alarming frequency. Bucky certainly wasn’t expecting for him to pick up the phone after six rings and immediately start shouting. Judging by the slur of his words, he’d already made it to the bar.
“You don’t even know what you did!” Clint was shouting, although Bucky wasn’t positive he even realized he was on the phone. “You’re an asshole! Thoughtless man-pig! It’s fine! Fine! No one deserves him anyway!”
“Uh…Clint? Where are you?”
“I can’t believe you could be so blind, man!”
“Can you hear me? Just tell me where you are and, uh, it sounds like I should come get you.”
Glancing at his watch, Bucky cringed at how early his friend must have gotten started to already be this hammered at barely half past nine. After a few more unhelpful back and forths Bucky caught the distant sound of familiar jingling in the background and heaved a sigh of relief. He’d know that sound anywhere. Only one bar in their area still had a pinball machine in it and he really should have guessed that’s where Clint was calling from; he loved hustling the pinball machine. Not to mention he was dating one of the bartenders.
Steve looked up when he passed through the living room to grab his keys.
“What’s up?”
“Gonna pop out and drive Clint home from The Commando.” He wiggled the phone still spewing garbled vitriol in his ear. “Sounds like he went a little too hard too fast.”
The usual little wrinkle showed up between Steve’s brows. “Well I hope he’s okay. Just let me know if he’s gonna need you to stay with him for the night and I’ll catch a cab up there with the fixings for hangover tea. Sound good?”
Bucky waved absentmindedly and hurried out the door.
Twenty minutes later he was waving to Nat instead, unsurprised when he didn’t need to say a word for her to point him towards the far back table. He was, on the other hand, more than a little surprised to see Sam at Clint’s side. By the looks of them it was taking the joint efforts of both to stay upright while they swayed in place, Clint cheering on Sam pouring some kind of bottle down his throat. Now that was very unusual. Generally not much of a heavy drinker, Sam was usually more partial to wine or beer without much taste for anything in between. Bucky pushed his way through the gathering crowd and gently encouraged Sam’s bottle down.
“‘Lo, you two, what’s the occasion?”
“Oh! Look at this rat bastard!” Clint took a swing at empty air. “You! You look just like him!”
“Right down to the - hic - fucking philtrum,” Sam agreed. He did not sound happy about agreeing. Bucky had no idea what a ‘philtrum’ was.
With a steadying hand on both of them, he asked, “How’s about I get you both to Natasha’s place and pour you some nice cold water? I’ll bet that sounds pretty good. Try not to throw up in my car and I’ll even cook you up whatever terrible drunk food you want when we get there.”
Just as he thought, the offer of food and his girlfriend’s name had Clint on board immediately. And, like gravity, if Clint was doing something then everyone else in the vicinity was doing it with him whether they liked it or not. Sam’s clear distress at being denied further alcohol was so unlike him that Bucky could only thank his lucky stars he’d thought of calling for company tonight. God only knew what kind of trouble might have stirred up if he hadn’t been here to stop this. Bundling the two small hurricanes in to his car, Bucky also thanked the universe and all her forces that he was familiar enough with the route to Nat’s place not to need directions. Clint was definitely in no place to offer them.
“You look like him,” he sneered again from the back seat.
Tipped sideways in to the other man’s lap, Sam gave off a soft, sad mewl. “He does. Fuck me.”
“If he had then it wouldn’t be like this!” Clint swiped one hand through the air like he was trying to cuff Bucky around the back of his head. Fortunately he was leaning against the far side of the vehicle so he didn’t come anywhere close.
“Whoever you’re mad at,” Bucky mused, “I’m not sure I wanna hear this story.” Sounded like a weird problem if the solution was fucking.
Getting them back out of the car was somehow the more difficult task as it seemed like Sam had lost feeling in his legs somewhere along the drive. He wobbled and fumbled until Bucky ducked under one of his arms with a reluctant laugh. Clint ducked under the other but, in all honesty, he was probably holding himself up more than doing anything to help. He made a case for this when he tripped over absolutely nothing and managed to catch himself with a fistful of Sam’s t-shirt, leaning in close to stage whisper against his chest.
“How does this guy know where I live?”
“I dunno,” Sam mumbled.
“Do you think he’s gonna murder us?”
“I dunno.”
“How did we get here?”
“I dunno.”
“Why did we let a murder man take us to my girlfriend’s apartment?”
Sam blinked owlishly for a second and then declared succinctly, “Food.”
“Oh my god, food.”
Suddenly Clint’s legs, at least, were working just fine again. He led the charge in to the building and swayed a path towards the elevator where he spent the journey up three floors describing, in excruciating detail, the terrible drunken insult to a real meal he wanted cooked for him. Bucky winced but promised him whatever he wanted so long as he got at least one glass of water down first. Sam toddled along without saying much. It would have been incredibly unusual for him, chatterbox that he normally was, except that it was becoming quite clear that both of these idiots were so drunk they didn’t even recognize their own friend. Sociable as he was, Sam still did take a while to open up properly for people he didn’t know well. Even after three years he was still reluctant to get close with Steve no matter that they got along like a house on fire whenever they were tricked in to being in the same room.
After getting a full cup of water down each of their throats, Bucky set his two friends on kitchen chairs side by side where they could lean against each other and watch him cook. It pained his poor little foodie heart cooking up a bowl of perfectly innocent pasta only to dab thick globs of nutella over top. He gagged when Clint insisted he grate some cheese over that as well. Thankfully Sam wasn’t interested in anything more adventurous than some good old fashioned cinnamon toast; Bucky was more than happy to whip that up even if it was strange not to have his best friend smile at him in thanks.
Halfway through their meals - if he dared to use the word for either dish - Bucky leaned back against the counter with folded arms and met the glaring eyes of a very drunk Clint Barton. Somehow the omnipresent band-aids always decorating his face made him look menacing for once instead of just pitiable.
“You need something else?” Bucky drawled, thinking maybe the guy hated his chocolate-cheese-pasta and was blaming others for his own poor choices. Clint bared his teeth. One of the front ones was covered in Nutella.
“Fuck you!”
“Well that’s not very nice.”
“You- you-!”
“Ah leave it,” Sam interjected in a tiny voice. “He’s not really Bucky, he doesn’t know.”
Bucky frowned - because he very much was himself, thank you - but before he could say anything Clint swung around to growl at Sam indignantly.
“Well he’s too stupid to know too!” he said.
Clenching both fists, Bucky took a moment to think. He could correct them, of course, that he was indeed the friend they knew and not a convenient lookalike giving free rides and free food. It was hard to even imagine how much alcohol they had to have consumed for both of them to accept the crackpot idea that he must be an imposter of some kind instead of the easier to swallow truth. At this point, though, he’d grown too interested in figuring out what the hell was going on to correct them. He couldn’t remember doing anything lately to piss Sam off.
And he didn’t even need to ask any questions to figure it out. Clint was on a roll already, fired up and pointing accusingly at the air around him.
“Maybe if he wasn’t so stupid then you wouldn’t be so sad! Honestly, how did he not know he was on a date with you? How does he still not know that he broke your heart? Keeps breaking it! Why are you still in love with someone who is too fucking stupid to notice?”
No one but Bucky seemed to notice the entire world grinding to a halt, the floor tilting out from beneath his feet.
“Bucky’s a good guy,” Sam murmured quietly.
“So good he dumped you for another dude on your first date!”
“He didn’t know.”
Clint scoffed. “It took you weeks to get up the courage to ask him out!”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “That doesn’t- hic. That still doesn’t make it his fault. Pretty sure he just thought I was taking him to dinner as a friend.”
“No friends I know stare at each other the way you two do.”
Sam recoiled, shaking his head so hard that he knocked his plate away. Frozen in place, no sensation left in his body besides the feeling of shock, Bucky didn’t even try to rescue the innocent dish as it went careening to the floor, shattering across the tile.
“He doesn’t stare at me like anything! Bucky’s with Steve! And he’s…he’s happy! Which is fine. I’m so fine.”
“Damn right you’re so fine!” Clint agreed vehemently. “You know what we’re gonna do? We’re gonna get you really hammered, we’re gonna go out on the town, and we’re gonna find someone who appreciates your fine ass properly!”
“I think I’m already hammered,” Sam volunteered, listing sideways a bit.
Clint righted him with a light punch to the shoulder. “That’s the spirit!”
“I think I’m gonna throw up.”
“Wrong spirit, wrong spirit!”
Maybe if he hadn’t been more concerned with the fact that his entire worldview was shattering in to pieces right in front of his eyes, Bucky might have been able to concentrate on mundane things like the fact that Nat was definitely going to murder all of them for the massive puddle of vomit now dripping down the the side of her kitchen island and spreading out across the floor. Caring about anything felt impossible now. Bucky felt his body moving, his hands gently steering a wobbly Sam towards the bathroom, but even as the rest of him played caretaker by rote his mind was a thousand miles away, more than a half dozen years back to the day they met.
Clint was right. Not a sentence he got to use often but one that wholeheartedly applied now. Clint was right. Stupid and blind, that’s how Bucky felt. For years now he’d been calling Sam his best friend and yet somehow he’d missed the fact that the man was in love with him?
Oh dear god, Sam was in love with him.
Quietly; gently; alone and unassuming. It was just like Sam to want something and never ask for it, just like him to observe that Bucky was happy and not even consider coming between that. He called Bucky a good person but it was him that deserved to have his picture in the dictionary next to the word ‘righteous’.
Herding his two friends to bed was in part easy because Sam never had much fight left in him after vomiting but in part difficult because getting Clint to do anything ever was like corralling a whole bag of cats. It took a lot of wheedling, a little begging, and several promises the man would hopefully forget as soon as he passed out but finally Bucky got him in to one of the two bedrooms. He wasn’t sure it was actually Natasha’s bedroom he dumped her boyfriend in. He wasn’t even sure he cared. As soon as the man rolled on to his side and closed his eyes, Bucky's feet wandered back to Sam all by themselves like they knew what his poor aching brain was stuck on.
Despite having the messy drinking habits of a wasted white girl when he was still awake, now that he was asleep Sam looked as peaceful as ever, face calm and hands lax where they curled cutely just under his chin. He’d always slept like that for as long as Bucky had known him, a habit leftover from sharing a bed with his big brother as kids. What did it mean that Bucky even knew such an obscure, intimate detail?
“Steve.” The sound of his own voice startled him, making him jump a little, and Bucky backed out of the room before he could make too much noise. He had to call Steve. His boyfriend was sitting at home waiting to hear whether their friend was okay and he knew he should be going home but suddenly he felt as though he couldn’t stand the very idea. Just the thought of going back to spend his evening with Steve pretending nothing had happened made his stomach turn over. The idea of actually telling him made Bucky want to crawl right out of his skin. What the hell was wrong with him?
In the living room he wavered, finger hovering over the call button for several long minutes. Steve’s face swam in front of his mind with that small frown of friendly concern. He was such a good man, always so ready to let his heart bleed for other people. Bucky pressed the button, scrubbing his other hand over both eyes.
“Hey you, everything okay?” Steve had never been much for pet names. Bucky wasn’t sure why he was thinking about that suddenly.
“Yeah it’s- I’m fine. Things are fine.”
“Do you want me to run over there with hangover cure stuff? Getting him home this early in the night, he’s got to be in pretty rough shape.”
“No! Uh, no, thank you.” Bucky looked around himself a little wildly. “Turns out there’s everything I need here.”
He heard Steve give a little hum of surprise and couldn’t blame the man. Neither Clint nor Natasha were very well known for being healthy eaters and most of the ingredients for Steve’s infamous hangover cure - a cure they all swore by because somehow it actually goddamn worked - were mostly healthy things.
“Maybe they finally decided to prepare ahead of time,” Steve guessed. “Do you want me to come over anyway and keep you two company?”
For a second Bucky was confused. Then he realized that Steve had no idea Sam was even around. He could easily say something, correct his boyfriend, but he didn’t. His stomach clenched. It was such an innocent piece of information on its own and yet he felt like some sort of betrayer keeping it to himself. Context always did make things so different. Bucky had a lot of years to look back over for new context.
“I’m alright,” he murmured in to the phone. “But thanks.”
“Okay, well, don’t let him give you too much trouble. Love you.”
“Yeah I-” Bucky had to pause to clear his throat. “You too.”
Hanging up the phone, he felt icky like he’d done something wrong. Which he hadn’t! Saying ‘you too’ instead of saying ‘I love you too’ was something he did all the damn time. It was just another way of phrasing the same sentiment. He had absolutely no reason to feel terrible about it.
Except that he did. He felt terrible. And guilty. And confused. And so lost he might need a goddamn road map just to look any one of these people in the eye ever again.
Sinking down on to Natasha’s overly plush couch, Bucky tossed his phone aside and leaned back to stare up at the ceiling. His therapist would ask him to lay out the facts. So here they were, starting from the beginning. Sam was in love with him. The day Steve exploded back in to his life, he had been out to dinner with Sam. Sam had intended for that to be a date. Bucky paused in laying out his facts and frowned, trying to think back, to remember anything at all about that night.
I’d really like to take you out to dinner sometime.
The words floated across his mind like an echo that had always been there, just waiting for him to listen. That was it. Bucky remembered laughing a little, thinking it was a weird way to say they should get something more than just fast food like usual, and he hadn’t thought anything of saying he was free that same night. Sam’s smile had been radiant but…
But wasn’t it always? Sam always smiled a little brighter for him and Bucky, the colossal idiot that he was, had always chalked it up to them being best friends. He’d even been a little smug about it, a little satisfied in the back of his mind to know that he had pieces of Sam none of their other friends did. It had never occurred to him as strange. Obviously best friends were different with each other. Growing up, Steve had been his best friend and they’d always been a little different with each other than they were with everyone else. Then Bucky had moved out to the big city and met Sam and he’d found that special connection in someone new. All very normal.
Except, growing up, everyone in town had always looked at that special connection between him and Steve and every one of them had smiled like they knew something he didn’t. His entire childhood had been filled with comments about how inevitable they were, all based on their friendship. If he’d found the same friendship in Sam did that mean anything? Obviously Sam thought so. Did it have to mean anything though? Sam and Clint had both been drunk off their asses tonight, enough they hadn’t even realized Bucky was really Bucky, so it wasn’t likely either of them would remember spilling the beans tomorrow. As long as he kept his trap shut nothing had to change. The only problem with that plan was that nothing would change . Sam would wake up tomorrow and still be silently in love with him. And he would still know about it.
Feeling himself start to hyperventilate, Bucky took a few deep breaths and tried going back to listing facts. He and Steve had been in a steady and safe relationship for three years with no major problems. Sam knew about their relationship. Sam had even stated that he knew they were happy. Bucky had no reason to rock the boat; Steve hadn’t done anything wrong. Sure, he wasn’t the most exciting person and okay, yes, Bucky did sometimes feel a little bit like his life was just going through the motions, but didn’t everyone feel that way occasionally? And so what if that feeling always settled after he went and hung out with Sam? That was just getting some space between him and Steve to breathe, it had nothing to do with Sam in particular. Of course it didn’t. They were friends, nothing more. Bucky had honestly never once looked at Sam and wondered what life would be like in another possibility.
He was thinking about it now though. Which, of course, made him an absolutely terrible person. He was committed to Steve. He’d known since he was about twelve years old that someday Steve would ask him for what everyone else already assumed, that someday Steve would want them to settle down in their hometown again and live out the perfect white picket fence life he’d been planning since their first kiss. And it wasn’t like Bucky hated the idea of all that. Maybe he dreamed of other things sometimes. That didn’t mean moving home and putting roots down in a quiet small town was a bad life to lead. Steve was great. Steve was thoughtful and kind and Bucky thought it was sweet how even after all these years he was still so cautious in his body, so uncertain of himself after the growth spurt finally hit him like a truck.
Facts. He needed to keep laying out facts. Bucky chewed at his lip, trying to figure out where he’d left off. Sam knew he and Steve were far from having problems. Up until tonight, Sam had never once so much as hinted that he had feelings for Bucky other than friendship. It was safe to say from the evidence so far that he never planned to either. Sam wasn’t the homewrecker type. But Sam was out on a Friday night with Clint, drinking his sorrows away, finding a release for his feelings in whatever way he could on an evening he hadn’t expected Bucky to be around.
Should he talk to Sam about this? God, if he talked to Sam he felt like he would have to talk to Steve. Or would he? Decent as he was, Steve would probably feel more sympathy for Sam than anger, he was forgiving like that. Almost annoyingly perfect in some ways.
Bucky sighed explosively. His head hurt, his stomach was twisted, and his lungs felt like they both had separate rubber bands constricting them from breathing properly. This wasn’t at all how he thought his weekend would get started. Sitting here trying to think his way through the initial panic wasn’t helping at all. He needed time to calm down and apply the tools he’d learned in therapy. He needed something to do.
First, he launched himself to his feet so fast that all the blood rushed out of his head and his vision went gray for a few seconds. When that came back he realized he was staring at the mess of vomit and shattered ceramic in the kitchen. He grimaced at the thought of cleaning it and yet a small voice in the back of his mind whispered that it was no more than he deserved. If there was anyone who deserved to be wiping up the contents of another person’s stomach right now it was him. After that was done - and he’d washed his hands several times over - he pulled two water bottles out of the pantry and left them beside the sleeping drunkards along with two paracetamol each. His blood was still thrumming though. Bucky wished he had some kind of way to think about all this while at the same time not thinking about all this. He wished he could stop his brain from leaping off on a tangent wondering how many times Sam had tried not to think about all of this.
“I need to get out of here,” he mumbled to himself out loud.
There was a twenty-four hour grocer three blocks away. Since he’d already told Steve not to come over and he was more than certain Clint would never have actually planned ahead, popping out to pick up hangover supplies felt like a reasonable excuse to get some air. He wouldn’t feel right leaving his friends alone for the whole night, just in case, but a quick trip to the store was fine. Then all he had to do was stop himself from going insane until Nat got home to keep watch over her own boyfriend. And Sam. Couldn't forget Sam. How could he ever forget Sam, especially now? He wondered if Sam had ever thought about stepping back and trying to forget him at any point since the day Steve came in and changed everything.
Shoes on and keys in hand, Bucky stopped halfway out the door to stare unseeingly in to space.
“Oh,” he whispered. This was why Sam had never wanted to get close with Steve, wasn’t it? He’d been thinking about that earlier. Well that explained some things for sure. Bucky licked his lips and swayed against another wave of confusion and sadness. “The store. I was…going to the store.”
It was not the calm and carefree drive that grocery runs usually were.