Chapter Text
Today has been relatively peaceful. Sam worked on the boat, completed some sales with his sister, and played with his nephews. Eventful though it remained smooth sailing. Despite this he made his near daily call to Bucky. Four weeks he had tried to get in touch only to fail, often left on read.
Dull rings infiltrated the air. Wood roughed into Sam’s back while he leaned against dock pillars.
Sam hadn't expected Bucky to answer. Yet he still called, texted, hell he debated on a handwritten letter.
Because of this, he almost dropped his phone when he heard the damn dude and not the voicemail that became familiar like a reocurring hooker to some lonely bitch.
"Hello?"
"Buck!" Sam blinked. "Hey, how you been man?"
"I'm.. Fine."
Bucky sounded hesitant: like he wanted to reply with an actual response rather than something so blatantly awkward, especially in the manner he said it. Sam picked up on it easily.
"You don't sound fine."
"Yeah, whatever. How have you been, Sam?"
“Don't have to be bitter about it. But for your information I'm doing rather decent. I thought we could catch up though.”
There was a silence that made Sam almost think Bucky hung up if not for the lack of dial tone. It was broken to his relief with a sigh.
“Sure-”
“Great, I'll fly to your apartment!”
With a ‘drrr’ signaling the end, Sam raced to his wings, phone clutched in hand. It wasn't a surprise. Four whole weeks without a word? He knew it might be mindless worry, he was wound up regardless.
And ecstatic to see him.
“Damnit.” Bucky swore, peeling himself off of his floor bed. “Great.”
He flicked on the light, shuddering with the explosion of brightness. After a second to rub his eyes, he went to work. “Just like a vampire.” The ex assassin mocked and got to work.
Clothes tossed around for the excuse ‘in case of a quick outing’ were hastily gathered and shoved back inside Bucky's room via laundry basket.
Passing back, his eyes caught dirty dishes stacked on counters, stained attempts to cook, and blood spots from accidents in missions. A reminder of how bad his environment is slapped him in the face and kicked his gut.
“Fuckkk.” Bucky shook his head, looking around for wherever he kept the cleaning supplies. “Uh.”
'Closet.' Someone internally directed, leading to him digging through the small space. Bucky couldn't care less who it was at the moment, or the fact they did not announce their presence whatsoever. It's typical anyway.
Realization sunk in that his apartment was really not in good enough shape for a visit. The reminder of how bad it is slapped him in the face and kicked his gut simultaneously. He silently berated himself for letting it get this way. Letting himself sit and lay, occasionally getting up for necessities. Only leaving when called to the outside world for some loose street criminal.
Part of this rush is Sam's fault. Making the decision and leaving Bucky with it. He wanted to suggest walking to a park. A bar? Gym? Literally anywhere else until Sam straight up ditched their half assed conversation. Now Bucky wanted to suggest staying inside forever and rotting away. Himself, not Sam.
'We could call him back. Save us the stress.'
Over and over he kept picturing Sam speeding on his wings, closer to Bucky’s location. Faster. Closer. Repeat.
His right hand rubbed at the gathering slimy snake like knots in his chest.
'Or.. Not.' They huffed.
On the way, Sam began to wonder once more. What has the fucker been doing? He had zero idea whatsoever what Bucky has or hasn't been getting into.
He wants to be sure the guy's alright, but with how he responded over the phone?
… Suspicious.
He hovered down to the sidewalk, wings folding up as he made his way up the stairs.