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The silence had been thick, almost suffocating, in the apartment. He didn’t like silence - silence in his world meant bad things. Then again, silence to most veterans meant a lot of things, so he couldn’t really comment, being one himself.
They had only gotten back to his place a few hours ago, but Sam had been moving through the space like a ghost, restless energy as the riot of colors bleeding across the late afternoon sky, bathed the space in as much light as the curtains would let in while he paced, thoughts a tangled mess. It had been a tough day today - not just for him, but for others. Being a VA counsellor, he was usually there for people who had gone through their own versions of hell, knowing what needed to be said. It was different for himself, because who counsels the counsellor?
Take a wild guess.
He’s also not alone in said apartment, but he’s not exactly up for talking right now either on his own or worse, with his guest, so he just kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, where the orange and pink hues were beginning to deepen to violet and navy. It kind of reminded him of a lot of the sunsets he saw on active duty - of course, he was a lot closer to them being in planes and such. There were a few he still wished he had photos of, postcard shit you know. He was really feeling his age at the moment.
If he had been paying attention, he would have heard footsteps, but then again, with what he knew now, he shouldn’t have been surprised he didn’t hear literally anything until a voice suddenly comes through. “I’m sorry.”
The words were quiet, almost swallowed by the fading light, but they cut through the fog in his brain like a sharp blade. Huh. He slowly turned, his expression a mixture of surprise and something akin to disbelief.
Bucky stood in the doorway of the kitchen, metal arm up against it, his posture unusually stiff and his gaze fixed on some point just past Sam’s shoulder.
“Sorry?” Sam enquired, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Sorry for what?”
Bucky met his eyes, his gaze flickering with an emotion Sam couldn't quite decipher. It was a blend of vulnerability and something…deeper, darker in a way. He’d saw that same look on a lot of veterans when they were going through something. Buck was the type to let things bottle up though, so it was an interesting look on the former assassin. “What I said when we were in therapy a while back, about Steve being wrong about you.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning and the weight of their shared past. Sam felt a prickle of unease, a faint echo of the sting he’d felt in that therapy session, though at the time he’d tried to brush it off, to minimize it in his own mind. He’d told himself it was just Bucky being…Bucky. Brooding, complicated, and often prickly as hell.
“Oh,” Sam said, the single syllable sounding flat even to his own ears. He pushed off the wall near the front door where he had ended up and moved further into the living room, taking a seat on the worn couch. He gestured to the armchair opposite him. “Well, if we’re talking therapy, we’re sitting down.”
Bucky hesitated for a moment, then slowly moved front he kitchen to the armchair and sank into it, not quite meeting Sam’s gaze and leaning forward, arms resting on his knees.
Sam waited, obviously, he knew the drill, letting the silence stretch between them as he waited for Bucky to collect his thoughts and make something coherent. It almost felt like one of his own sessions, if they weren’t alone in his apartment - he usually held them at the VA or in a safe space for the vet and not himself.
Finally, after almost a little too long, Bucky spoke, his voice low and gravelly. “In therapy… when we were talking about the shield, and Steve, and… everything. I said… I said that Steve was wrong about you.” He winced as if the words themselves were painful to say.
Sam nodded slowly, remembering the moment vividly. Dr. Raynor had been gently probing their dynamic, their individual feelings about Steve, and the weight of the Captain America mantle. He’d felt a familiar wave of insecurity wash over him in that moment, a nagging doubt about his own worthiness that he still battled every day. Then Bucky had said those cutting words, spoken almost casually, but having an impact of a blow to the stomach.
Bucky shifted in his chair, his metal arm flexing slightly. “It wasn’t… it wasn’t what I meant. It came out wrong. I was… I was still processing, you know? Processing everything about Steve, and the shield, and… you.”
Sam‘s brows pinched, trying not to show interest, but failing. “Okay…”
“It was…I was…everything wasd complicated.” He ran a hand through his newly cut hair, still not used to it being so short, like he was able to still push it back from his face. It was a habit he’d picked up since Sam knew him - he wondered if younger Bucky used to do the same when he was just some guy from long ago. “For years, for decades, Steve was… everything. He was my mission, my purpose. He saved me, not just physically, but… from myself. From the Winter Soldier.”
He knew that much at least. Steve, just from personal stories from both sides as well as the history exhibit in the museum talking about both of them, had used Bucky as an anchor before he was Cap and then became Bucky’s anchor when he came back to a life that was barely normal, something to grab onto in a storm of trauma and pain when he at risk of turning back into the person he was forced to be.
“I thought I had a second chance with him, that he would be around for longer. Then…he went and fucking left, went back to the past, passed on.” Bucky continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “Before he passed, he gave the shield to you and also told me that he chose you to take on…all of the Cap stuff and I…I just didn’t understand. Not at first.”
“Didn’t understand why he chose me?” Sam asked, the question laced with a hint of self-deprecation.
Bucky shook his head, his gaze intense. “No. Not… not like that. Not that I thought you weren’t worthy. It’s just… I was angry. Angry at Steve for leaving, for moving on. Angry at the world, maybe. I was…fuck, okay, I was also…scared.”
“Scared?” Sam echoed, surprised. Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier, scared? It seemed almost impossible.
“Yeah, scared,” Bucky repeated, a raw honesty in his voice. “Scared that… that Steve had made a mistake. Scared that maybe he hadn’t seen… all of it. The darkness, the… the baggage me and him still carried even when he decided to go and live life. Scared that maybe he was wrong to trust you with… with his legacy because it was so..it was a lot to live up to, to still live up to.”
“So, because of issues you had with Steve in the past, you thought he was wrong to trust me with the shield?” Sam asked again, wanting to make sure he understood. It still stung, hearing it now, even softened by Bucky’s explanation, but then Bucky sighed, running a hand over his face. “No. God, no, Sam, that’s not what I meant. That’s why I’m sorry. It came out so wrong.”
He looked at the ceiling before looking at the floor again. “What I meant was… I was worried.”
Worried?
“Worried for you. Worried about what it would do to you. That’s why I said it. It was selfish, probably. But I was… I was protective of Steve’s memory, maybe overly so and… and I was afraid of losing him, I guess, all over again, by seeing someone else carry his shield.”
“You were worried I’d mess it up.” Sam stated it plainly, without accusation, leaning back against the couch cushions, frowning as the words chased themselves around in his brain that was still attempting to make sense of everything.
Bucky flinched slightly. “Not mess it up. No. Never thought that. It was more about the weight of it. The pressure. What it would do to you.” He finally looked directly at Sam, eyes earnest.
“Steve carried that weight for so long… it changed him, in ways he didn’t want to acknowledge even up until he died and I didn’t want to see that happen to you as well. It was one of the reasons why I never challenged you for it - I knew I couldn’t be Steve. I didn’t know how he thought you could be him either, no offense.”
Sam nodded slowly, finally getting a sense of what Bucky was attempting to go for. He understood that fear. He’d felt it himself, every time he looked at the shield, every time he felt the expectations of the world pressing down on him. He’d wondered if he was worthy, if he could live up to Steve’s legacy, if he could handle the burden.
“It is heavy, Buck,” Sam admitted, his voice quiet. “Heavier than I thought it would be. Sometimes… sometimes I feel like I’m drowning under it.. He sighed, looking at the ceiling himself, eyes closed. “Sometimes I wonder if he made the right choice as well.”
“...He did.”
Sam cracked an eye open, turning his head towards the latter. “He did?”
“He did.” Bucky said firmly, his voice losing some of its roughness. “He absolutely made the right choice. Steve… Steve knew people, Sam. Better than anyone I know. He saw something in you. He saw… he saw the best of you. That’s how he was, both when he was the small fry I protected and the guy he became.”
“You think so?” Sam didn’t trust his voice at the moment, but he still spoke as Bucky nodded. “Yeah.” Bucky admitted, holding Sam’s gaze steady. “You’re different than Steve. You handle things differently, but… you’re just as good. Maybe even better, in some ways. Steve was right to choose you…and I shouldn’t have given you shit for it.”
Sam was slightly taken aback. He knew Bucky didn’t offer praise lightly and it was the best he was going to get out of the man in terms of him being an asshole despite having put up with it for years at that point, but it still affected him. “Thanks, Buck.”
“I hate to admit it, but you’re doing good, Sam.” Bucky smirked. Ah, there was the genuine Bucky he had been waiting on, even if it was slightly softened. “Steve would be proud.”
“You know what else he would be proud of?” Sam turned to Bucky, self indulgent.
“What?”
“The Pelicans beating the Yankees.” Sam’s grin is practically bordering on sadistic as it leaves his lips and it obviously makes Bucky bare his teeth. “Like fuck they will ever - keep deluding yourself.”
“Whatever.” Sam’s mouth softens into a small smile, looking back out the window as the stars started to come out, the darkness creeping back in. “Your word against mine.”