Chapter Text
Sam Wilson was many things, a military veteran, an avenger, former war criminal, best friends with a guy who had probably killed more people than most of the guys Sam was putting behind bars, yes, but he wasn’t gay…right?
Like every guy stared at girls—or thought about being with them—and felt repulsed. Right? Every guy liked other guys but society told them that they had to like girls.
Right???
Well Sam wasn’t so sure anymore.
He had been living with Bucky Barnes for about six months, and it had been an amazing time so far. Sam introduced Bucky to more modern games—Uno, Phase 10 and the like—and Bucky talked about the books he had checked out from the library to learn about the 70 plus years he lost to HYDRA.
Now it was Valentine’s Day. And Sam had been avoiding Bucky like the plague. It wasn’t personal, he just knew his dad would call him and if he heard a man in the background of Sam’s call, he’d make some tasteless joke about the “damn homosexuals ruining god’s country.” Which had been his stance ever since Sam brought his military friend, Riley, over, and Riley talked about his boyfriend.
After that, Sam stopped having friends meet his parents. It was safer this way. Really.
Now Sam was pacing up and down the hallway, Bucky had stepped out to go get some groceries and house supplies, and Sam could see the picture he dreaded pop up on his phone.
Father Dad
He had come up with that as a joke whenever setting up his first phone, which he got after returning stateside. It was a nod towards his father being a priest back in their little church in Harlem.
“Hello.” Sam greeted, hoping he didn’t sound too stiff.
“Hey Sammy?” Bucky peaked in through the front door, his metal arm holding open their door, keys swinging from the other and gentle tapping the wood barrier between them and the world.
Well. Shit. Bucky only ever called him “Sammy” whenever he thought nobody else was around, but it totally could be skewed romantically if Mr. Wilson overheard the nickname.
Father Paul Wilson was many many things. The father of a military veteran, a vet himself, a man devoted to his religion, but he always forgot one important teaching when it came to the man he created.
A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another, from John 13:34.
Sam remembered this passage, Riley had always complained about how many preachers told their followers to love one another but then whenever someone was different, they forgot that teaching.
Gosh, Sam forgot how much he missed Riley.
“Oh- gimme a second dad-“ the son of a priest said, trying to mute before his dad heard Bucky.
“Was that a man?” Mr. Wilson’s voice was deep, and sounded like he was going to personally end his son if it turned out the voice on the other end was a guy.
“Yeah- he’s just my roommate though!” Sam’s voice wavered slightly before he muted it.
Bucky’s eyes widened a bit, why did them being roommates matter? Rent costs an arm and a leg and Bucky doesn’t have another arm to give up.
“Do we need bread? I was gonna text you but my phone’s dead.” Bucky’s question was simple. Really. But Sam still dropped his phone in a mix of relief and some sorta hope. He tried to grab his phone, but his puny human reflexes ended up just hitting the speaker button, before it slammed into the oven.
Sam’s entire body tensed, he knew exactly what was about to occur. He tried to grab the device but before he could reach it, his dad’s hate filled voice echoed throughout their small kitchen.
“I swear if he turns out to be one of those gross homosexuals I’m gonna kill him.”
Well.
This was gonna be fun.
“That’s your dad?” Bucky asked, though he could read the title above the call the same as Sam.
“Yeah…” Sam grabbed the phone, taking it off the speakerphone.
For a second, they just stood there, Sam’s hands shaking violently, like his very bones were rattling, to the point he nearly dropped his phone.
“Let’s just breathe?” Bucky offered, using his flesh hand to remove the smartphone from his friend’s hand, his finger hovered over the red hang-up button.
“No-“ the younger’s heart rate jumped up whenever the call disconnected, “shit- bucky- my dad-“ he reached for the device, but the elder’s metal arm came in front of his chest, thoroughly knocking the wind out of him.
“Sam, relax. It’s alright. Just breathe.” Bucky reached out a hand and set it atop the shorter’s hair, earning a squeaky noise from the man beneath his hand.
Sam’s eyes widened, his chest felt tight and it felt like if he tried to breathe deeply at all one of his ribs would shatter. And yet, as he stood there, Bucky’s hand resting atop his head, some voice in the very recesses of his mind said maybe—just maybe—it was more than just platonic comfort.
“I gotcha.” Bucky assured, his arms wrapping around Sam’s chest.