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He wasn’t sure how long it’d been when he came to, but the kitchen was dark, and the sun was no longer in the sky. His body felt stiff, and it took him a second to orient himself. As he became more collected, Sam’s absence became glaringly obvious.
Anxiety curled darkly in his stomach; had Sam finally gotten fed up with his long list of issues? Had he finally realized that Bucky wasn’t worth saving?
He clenched his fists; he’d known this day would come sooner or later, but he hadn’t expected it to hurt so much.
His chest constricted as he felt tears begin to build behind his eyelids. He stood abruptly, the chair falling over from the sheer force.. He needed air, to move, to run.
It took less than a minute to slide his shoes on, grab his phone, and shove some cash in his pocket.
He hesitated as he reached the front door; …what if Sam came back? Should he leave a note?
An old memory echoed in the back of his mind:
“Why would he come back for you ?” A hydra soldier had sneered, “You only weighed him down.”
His shoulders straightened with resolve, breathing unsteady as he unlocked the front door, the handle turning with a click.
A voice behind him, barely a whisper, was the only thing that stopped him from throwing the door open and taking off, “..Buck?”
Suddenly, it was 1942 again, the first time Hydra had captured him, and Steve hovered above him, face full of worry.
Steve.
He’d come back.
“..Steve?” Bucky turned around, his voice choked, but it wasn’t Steve, nor were they in the burning Hydra base.
Sam stood on the stairs, wearing PJs with a blanket draped over his shoulders. His shirt was twisted in an uncomfortable fashion, and he was missing a sock – conclusion: Sam had been abruptly woken up. Bucky thought back to the chair now on its side in the kitchen and internally kicked himself.
“Sam,” he corrected himself, swallowing the burning tightness of his throat, “Sorry if I woke you up.”
He couldn’t read Sam’s expression, there was something in it: Sadness? Disappointment? ..Longing? He was suddenly acutely aware of the doorknob still in his grasp.
Sam’s shoulders slumped, acceptance written on his face.
“Are you leaving?”
Was he? Had he planned on coming back? He supposed he hadn’t thought that far ahead.
He had just wanted out.
Now he wasn’t so sure.
The memory of Sam’s hand on his face, on his shoulder, surfaced. He wanted to shove it away, to forget about the way it made his chest constrict with need, but he couldn’t find it in himself. No one had ever felt safe before – at least, after Hydra. Even Steve had felt distant – a layer of pity coated every interaction.
Sam isn’t like that. Sam doesn’t pressure him into talking, doesn’t make him feel fragile, and doesn’t flinch at the prospect of touching him. Sam is safe.
Part of him doesn’t believe he deserves it.
He hadn’t realized how long he’d been internally debating with himself until Sam spoke up again, “Look,” he sighed, “I’m not gonna stop you – hell, I don’t know if I even could stop you,” he chuckled, mostly to himself, before the laughter died in his throat. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but I get that urge to run, man. It eats you alive. And, I know how the regret sets in later, when you’re alone, without a plan.” Bucky stared at the ground, fists clenching and unclenching. “I guess what I’m sayin’, is that if you get to that point – alone without a plan – you’re still welcome here,” a pause, “And, if you want to skip that step, the bed in the guest room is really fucking comfortable.”
A breathy laugh escaped Bucky as his hand slipped from the doorknob. While the urge to run hadn’t gone completely, his body ached with tiredness, and the need for sleep outweighed it. For now.
Bucky looked up, his gaze no longer blocked by long hair.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Sam stepped off the stairs, opening his arms slightly in an invitation.
And if Bucky let himself collapse into Sam’s embrace, the world would be none the wiser.