Archive of Our Own

Sam was woken up by a pounding in his head and a stabbing pain in his nose.

He groaned, rubbing at his head. This happened last night too, around 8pm he had woken up in blinding pain. Bucky had gotten him his pain meds and some ramen, promising he'd do a grocery order tomorrow to get some more food. Sam took the pills and ate, and then fell back asleep with Bucky once again cuddled up next to him with both of the cats close.

He could feel one of the cats sleeping by his leg, and he assumed it was Figaro. That was his favorite spot. He wasn't sure where Alpine was, but Bucky was still next to him. Sam could hear his breathing pattern, a gentle inhale and exhale that he'd come to know as signaling Bucky was in a deep sleep.

He was probably pretty tired. While Sam had slept most of his time in the hospital, Bucky was probably almost always awake, watching out for him, making sure everything was okay.

Sam didn't want to wake him up. He could do something as simple as walk to the dresser a few feet away to get the pill bottle, right?

He sat up slowly, trying to will away the lightheadedness that followed. He rubbed at his temple again, the world oddly spinning before his eyes.

“Sammy?” The bed shook a little as Bucky sat up in one rapid motion, his voice a little groggy. Bucky was an incredibly light sleeper, even when Sam thought he was out a small gust of wind would have him up in an instant. “What's wrong?”

“Need my meds.” He replied, blinking as if that would stop the dizziness. “Go back to sleep. I can get ‘em.”

“Lay back down.” Bucky put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him down extremely gently, not enough to actually force his body back into laying now. Regardless, Sam gave in, collapsing back onto the pillows on his own accord. “I'll go get it. Okay?”

Sam made a noncommittal noise but didn't make any effort to get back up as Bucky got off the bed.

It wasn't long before Bucky was back, not only with the medicine but with a glass of water and a granola bar too.

“Need to eat with it too.” Bucky insists, helping him sit up a little bit and handing him the pills, then holding the glass up to his lips to help him swallow them. The water is cold, and it feels good with his slightly-sore throat.

“Here.” Bucky gives him the already unwrapped granola bar, and Sam eats it quickly. He didn't think he needed to eat, but suddenly he finds he's actually hungry.

“I'll make you real meals tomorrow.” Bucky promises, throwing the wrapper in the trash. “Or, y’know, later today, technically….which reminds me…” He leans down, gives Sam a gentle kiss on his forehead. “It's after midnight. Happy birthday, honey.”

“Thanks.” Sam lays back down, the two pillows propping his head up even as the rest of his body is horizontal. “Great way to spend it.” He huffs sarcastically.

“I'll try to make it nice for you.” Bucky climbs back into bed, laying down next to Sam. Sam feels the mattress dip as Alpine also jumps into bed, she'd probably followed Bucky to the kitchen, she was basically attached at the hip to him after all. “Homemade meals…cake…Sarah and the boys over for a bit to celebrate….”

“Mhm.” Sam hums, already falling back asleep. “Sounds nice…”

“Good. You deserve it.” Bucky takes his hand in his, rubbing at the top of it.

Sam hums again as he falls into unconsciousness again.

~~~~~~~~~

A little bit of sun is shining from the bottom of the drawn curtains when Sam wakes up again.

The absence of Bucky is immediately noticeable. Figaro is still curled up by his leg, but Alpine is gone too.

He doesn't feel fantastic, but the pain isn't too bad yet. The pills are wearing off, but still working a bit. It's a much more peaceful wake-up than the previous times, not drowning in agony the second his eyes open. It's a little hard to breathe out of his nose, especially his right nostril. He feels like something is blocking it.

“Hey.” Bucky whispers (Sam hadn't heard him talk in full volume since he woke up in the hospital) as he stands in the doorway. Sam lifts his head enough to see that he's holding a plate with something on it, Sam can't tell in the darkness, and a large cup. Alpine is threading herself between his legs, rubbing at his ankles. Sam can hear her purring from here.

“Hi.” Sam blinks, staring at the plate. “You made breakfast?”

“Of course.” Bucky sets the plate and cup down on the dresser, going to the window and holding the curtain. “Is it okay if I open this a bit?”

“Please.” Sam's tired of being in the dark. He knows too much light will hurt, but he thinks he'll go stir-crazy if he doesn't get at least a little peak of the sun.

Bucky opens the curtain only an inch or two, but it's enough to bring a gentle glow to the whole room. It's also just about as enough as Sam can handle without his head feeling like he's being stabbed.

“That okay?” Bucky asks, and Sam nods.

“Let me know if it gets to be too much.” Bucky moves back to pick up the dishes and bring them over to the nightstand, setting them down there and giving Sam a chaste kiss on the forehead. “Happy birthday, honey.”

“You said that last night.” Sam recalls, although he's not going to say it's not welcome. He can't really do much for his birthday, but at least Bucky is here, even if he does get a little overprotective when Sam's hurt or sick. Bucky shows affection through actions, and that manifests in his caretaking as well.

“Yeah, well, you're gonna be hearing it a lot today.” Bucky helps Sam sit up, rearranging the pillows a bit to make it easier and insure he's not leaning up against the hard wood of the headboard.

“Okay, first.” Bucky takes a couple pills out of a small bowl on the plate. “Pain meds.” He hands them to Sam, who throws them in his mouth and then accepts the water glass from last night that Bucky is holding out for him.

“And now…” Bucky brings the plate to sit in Sam's lap. It's warm, but not alarmingly so, more of a pleasant warmth. Three pieces of french toast with a large amount of whipped cream and sprinkles on top are on it, and there's another little bowl like the one the pills had been in, but this one is filled with syrup. The cup holds a pale pinkish drink.

“Birthday breakfast.” Bucky says a little sheepishly, as if he's not sure if it's any good. Bucky will admit himself he's not a great cook, but Sam doesn't think he's as bad as he thinks he is. “French toast and a strawberry banana smoothie.”

Figaro is intrigued by the food, slowly creeping up to the plate, and Sam has to gently shove him away.

“I see you're trying to spike my blood sugar.” Sam teases, before being serious. “Thank you. It looks good.”

For all Bucky thinks he's a terrible cook, it tastes fantastic. Sam's scarfing it down before he realizes. The smoothie is nice and cold and helps him soothe his throat as he eats.

Sam's nervous system is getting so many other signals, between pain and exhaustion and stress, that he's not sure he's even realizing when he's hungry. A few days unconscious and a few more in the hospital has left him devouring anything he gets like he hasn't eaten in years.

Sam slows down a bit, dipping the last few pieces in the maple syrup, as Bucky nearly collapses onto the bed next to him, Alpine following suit a second later.

“You okay?” Sam inquires, and Bucky nods, petting Alpine who has decided his chest is the perfect napping place.

“Yeah. I ordered the groceries and cleaned around the house a bit and made breakfast, so I just need a minute.” Bucky brushes it off, but Sam knows what's really going on.

“You didn't sleep.” Sam says. It's not a question.

“I did.” Bucky defends. “Just, like. I don’t know. Maybe four hours?” He admits.

“Buck-”

“It's fine, Sam. I'm good.” He scoops Alpine up off his chest as he stands up, holding her in his arms. She immediately tries to burrow into the neck of his henley. “I'm completely okay. Just needed a minute.”

Sam sighs. “You don't have to do all this-”

Bucky shakes his head. “Sam. I promise I'm good. And you deserve to be taken care of for once. You're always putting everybody else's happiness and health above your own. Just…” Bucky trails off, trying to find the right words. “...just let yourself be the one being helped.”

Sam bites his lip. “That's…not really in my nature, Buck.”

And it's true. His whole life, it's been helping others. When his parents died, he just shoved all his own emotions and grief down because Sarah was hurting, and she needed his help. When Riley died, he pretended it didn't affect him and just pushed on, going to help others at the VA. He gave others advice at the VA, telling them to feel their feelings, that it was okay to feel that grief and sorrow and fear, and then didn't follow it himself.

And now, as Captain America, all he thinks about is keeping his loved ones safe, keeping his team safe, keeping the world safe.

He barely thinks about himself. About his wants, his needs, his feelings.

About the deep exhaustion he feels everyday, but ignores it, because others need him.

“I know.” Bucky says solemnly, the same sad look on his face when he'd told Sam one night ”I just wish you could see yourself the way I see you”. “Which is why I'm gonna take care of you today.” With a smirk, he adds, “Whether you want me to or not.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?” He says playfully.

“Depends on if you fight it.” He shrugs, smirk still on his face. He puts Alpine down on the ground, to which she gives an indignant meow, and Bucky looks down at her and puts a finger up to his lips to shush her.

“You need anything else right now?” Bucky asks as he goes over to Sam's side of the bed and takes the empty plate and cup.

Sam feels like saying everything is fine, brushing off the help, but he does have one little thing that's been annoying him since he woke up, and Bucky asked, so…

“My nose is blocked.” Sam says it quickly, thinking if he doesn't ask for help now he never will. He's not used to being taken care of, it feels like he's overriding a natural reaction by asking for assistance.

“Let me see…” Bucky holds the dishes in one hand and puts his other hand on Sam's chin, lifting it up slightly as he looks at Sam. “Yeah, you've got some dried blood right at the end of your nostril. Give me a minute, I'll help.”

Bucky leaves the room, Alpine following him like a shadow. Figaro has settled back down, curled into a ball at the end of the bed.

“Have you left this bed at all since I got home?” He questions the cat, and he just winks at Sam.

Bucky comes back, holding some various supplies in his arm.

“Alright.” He sets everything down on the bedside table. Sam can see a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a few cotton swabs, a jar of Vaseline, a washcloth, and some of the saline spray and decongestant spray the doctor had said to use twice a day for a week after surgery. Bucky grabs a cotton swab and the hydrogen peroxide, placing a few drops onto the end of the swab.

He holds the swab in one hand, takes Sam's chin just as he did before, but he lifts his head up more this time. He carefully places the cotton swab up to Sam's nostril, getting stopped by the large clump of dry blood there, rubbing slowly and gently at it, careful not to go into the nostril at all, not wanting to accidentally damage his still-healing nose.

With his head tilted like this, all Sam can see is Bucky's concentrated expression as he holds the cotton swab up to Sam's nose.

“This is romantic.” Sam comments sarcastically, and Bucky laughs a little.

It takes a few more swabs and maybe ten minutes, but the mass of crusted blood finally detaches itself from his nostril. Bucky catches it in the washcloth, and Sam looks at it as if it just committed a personal offense towards him. It's so small, yet it hindered his breathing so much. It feels like an insult.

Bucky catches his grimace, and seems to know why he's making that face. “A lot of it came off on the cotton swabs too.” Bucky tries to ease his sourness, and it does work a little bit. It at least makes Sam feel understood that Bucky knew exactly why he was scowling.

“Alright, spray.” Bucky grabs the saline spray from the nightstand, uncapping it.

“I can do it-” Sam tries, but Bucky shakes his head.

“It'll be easier for me to do it.” Bucky counters, and he is right. Bucky can make sure it's actually lined up properly and not accidentally go inside his nose. Sam's not exactly sure what his nose looks like right now, between the cast over the bridge of his nose, splints in his nostrils, and crusted blood, but he imagines it's not pretty, and is probably not going to be easy for him to do the spray himself.

Still, Sam's mind is screaming at him to reject the help, to do it himself. He's really an awful patient. Even when it would be infinitely easier and probably safer to just let Bucky take care of him, especially when Bucky is offering no less, but it's just so hard for him to accept any help. To accept that he's hurt, that he needs to rest, that he needs to be taken care of.

He tries to shut off that voice telling him this is wrong, that he doesn't need this, doesn't deserve this, and lets Bucky spray the solution into each nostril. The surgeon made a point to tell him not to try and sniff the solution further into his nose, just let it go in as it is. Sam's not supposed to blow his nose either until at least his follow-up appointment in a week, and if he sneezes the surgeon said to open his mouth to reduce the pressure on his nasal passages. He does the same with the decongestant spray, and then Bucky uses another cotton swab to put some Vaseline around his nostrils.

Bucky gets him settled back into bed, laying the pillows back down and fixing the blanket. The pain meds are kicking in in earnest now, making Sam's eyelids feel heavy. He just woke up, but he's pretty sure he's about to go under again.

In what feels like a blink of an eye, Bucky leaves and then returns with a cool washcloth, placing it on Sam's forehead.

Sam doesn't really sleep, but he drifts, not asleep or awake, just…floating. He feels when Bucky comes and takes the washcloth off, he feels as Figaro moves positions, stretching out on his back, then curled back up, then rolls over and lays on his side, before going back to sprawling on his back. Something else jumps onto the bed and lays on the pillow on the other side of the bed, and Sam assumes it must be Alpine, because there's no way Alpine would allow another cat-size animal in the house. She only tolerates Figaro, and that's just because Bucky tells her to be nice. Even with humans, it takes her time to come around. It took her a while to get adjusted to Sam, and he suffered a few scratches along the way.

Sam's pulled from his lull by his phone vibrating incessantly. He had set it to do-not-disturb since he really wasn't supposed to be on it, concussion and all, but it would still buzz if he got an urgent message.

Sam knew he shouldn't, he was meant to be under no stress, resting, no screen time, but an urgent message…it could be anything. It could be something horrible, something they really needed Captain America for, even with a broken nose and concussion.

He picked up his phone from the nightstand.

He squints as he turns it on, the light blinding him. He quickly lowers the brightness as far as it can go, and turns on the blue light protector.

He has over 50 unread messages, but the urgent one stands out…

And it's a spam text labeled urgent.

He dismisses the spam text. Of course he'd be tricked into looking at his phone by spam.

He takes a quick glance over the rest of his text messages. There's over 20 from the Avengers group chat, most of them wishing him a happy birthday. There's some other happy birthday texts from some of his brother-in-law's family, one from Leila, Rhodey, Sharon, one from Eli saying happy birthday from him and Isisah, and some more from other various friends he has. There's also an extra one from Joaquín, even though he'd already wished him happy birthday in the group chat, he does it again in their private conversation, sending a gif with a cartoon penguin holding a cake with balloons around him.

A furry paw bats at his arm.

Sam looks over to see Alpine, clear judgement in her features, right up against him, looking between him and the phone.

The message is clear.

“I was just checking messages.” Sam defends to the cat.

Alpine smacks the phone.

He rolls his eyes, but shuts the phone off, putting it back on the nightstand with a huff. His eyes did feel like they were beginning to strain, and his head was beginning to throb a little, so he was going to turn it off soon anyway, but Alpine sped it up.

“I swear.” Sam comments, looking at her fluffy face, her expression showing that she's clearly very proud of herself. “You’re like a spy for Bucky.”

She meows smugly.

~~~~~~~~~

Sam manages to fall asleep not long after Alpine's interference.

He wakes up a few hours later, and he's not immediately aware as to why. He's so used to being woken up by pain in his head or nose, it feels strange that besides a little soreness and congestion, they don't really hurt.

But it becomes apparent as he comes to that the pain that woke him up was actually not in either of those areas…it's in his jaw, an aching soreness, reminding him of how it felt after he got his wisdom teeth off.

“Ugh.” He groans, opening his mouth and trying to work his jaw, thinking that'll get rid of it, but it only makes the ache worse.

Figaro gets up from his lounging against Sam's leg, meowing quietly. Figaro isn't usually talkative, only speaking rarely, the complete opposite of Alpine who will screech if she's not fed at 8am and 5pm on the dot.

“I'm okay, bud.” Sam assures the cat, reaching out to rub his chin. He usually loves that, but this time he moves away from Sam's hand and jumps off the bed.

Sam's feelings are a little hurt, at first. It's his birthday and his cat leaves the second Sam gives him any attention. Figaro is one of the most docile animals Sam's ever come across, loving to just sleep and be petted, never really having a problem with anything, especially not getting a chin scratch.

But Figaro jumps back up a few moments later, and slowly makes his way back to Sam, inching towards him like he's trying to sneak around, Figaro's favorite flying squirrel plush cat toy in his mouth.

He carefully deposits it right on Sam's chest, looking at him for approval.

“Aw, thanks bud.” Sam scratches him behind his ear, and Figaro tilts his head into it, letting out a purr.

Sam knows cat behavior, but more importantly he knows Figaro's behavior. Both Figaro and Alpine are indoor cats (with the exception of when Alpine goes out with Bucky, but she stays in his jacket when she does, never left unsupervised), but they both have their favorite toys. Alpine's loves batting at things, so the cat tower in the living room with a scratching post and hanging balls is her main favorite, but she also had a plush toy that's a fake ball of yarn. She likes to snuggle with it, sometimes using it as a pillow, but if she gives it to you, it means she wants to play. Figaro loves to cuddle with his flying squirrel, but he's not much for playing with it. Figaro giving you something doesn't mean he wants to play, it means he's trying to comfort you- and, giving you his absolute favorite toy means he knows Sam is hurting and is trying to make him feel better.

While he's petting Figaro, the door creaks open, having only been open enough previously to let the cats in and out, and Bucky comes in.

“Hey.” Bucky greets, eyes going to the plush toy still on Sam's chest.

“What hurts?” Bucky asks, because he also knows Figaro and knows he wouldn't just give Sam his favorite toy for nothing. Figaro loves Sam, but the flying squirrel is only given in special situations.

“Just my jaw.” Sam opens and closes his mouth, again hoping it'll help the pain, but it doesn't.

Bucky nods, with a little sparkle in his eyes that happens when he gets an idea. “It's lunchtime, you want some ice cream?”

Sam's torn, because ice cream for lunch is the exact thing Sam gets on Bucky's case for considering every time AJ and Cass come over Sam swears he tries to give them a sugar rush between ice cream and cookies and candy, but his jaw is really hurting and his throat is still kind of sore and ice cream would be really good right now.

Well, it is his birthday.

“Yeah.” Sam takes Bucky up on the offer, and Sam can just barely make out the grin on Bucky's face in the dim light of the room as he leaves.

Bucky returns with a bowl, and Sam can make out the whipped cream and peanut butter chips piled on top even before Bucky puts the dish down on the nightstand.

Sam carefully puts the plush squirrel down next to Figaro, assuring him he appreciates it, before accepting Bucky's help with sitting up.

“It's birthday cake ice cream.” Bucky informs as he gives Sam the bowl and a spoon. “I thought it was topical, considering the day, but I made sure to get peanut butter chips too.”

“You're sweet.” Sam says, before ending it with a sarcastic sigh, as if it's so painful to be all sappy towards Bucky, and Bucky smirks, because he knows that sigh is just him teasing. There is an almost constant banter between them, and from the outside some may see it as mean, but in a lot of ways, it's the way they show love. The teasing, quips, and jabs at each other…it's really flirting. Sam's not really sure how long the banter has been flirting, but it definitely was by the time Sam became Cap. It was likely sooner, but that's when Sam first started to notice it, the loving edge to all of the ribs and wisecracks.

Bucky leans down to kiss his forehead, regretfully bidding him a brief farewell, saying he has to go check on something in the kitchen and he'll be back in a few minutes with Sam's pain medicine.

Sam's pretty much done with the ice cream by the time Bucky comes back, the cold easing both his jaw pain and the persistent aching throat, already making him feel quite a lot better. The pain in his head and nose was present, but he was able to mostly drown it out. He'd gotten pretty good at ignoring pain, which was helpful considering how often he got hurt- most of the time, it was just bumps and bruises, but broken bones and wounds requiring stitches were more common than he'd admit.

Regardless, even if the pain was bearable now, Sam knew if he didn't take the pain meds on time it would come barreling at him in full force soon. He could grit his teeth and bear that as well if he had to, but it would be a hell of a lot easier to not endure the pain if he didn't have to.

Sam takes the meds, laying his head back on the headboard. He can’t say this is his worst birthday, the one after Riley died remains number two (he sat alone in his apartment all day, ignoring every message from his friends and family, ignoring Sarah insisting he get out of his head for at least a few minutes, instead just drowning himself in his sorrow) and the one only a few weeks after his dad’s death still takes the absolute cake (he was already sad and feeling guilty, and then at his birthday party everybody just looked at him with pity. He hated being looked at with pity, especially when it was still so fresh and Sam still believed it was his fault…he still hasn’t completely rid himself of the guilt associated with his dad’s death, but it’s gotten better, slowly, to cope with), but it’s still far from his best.

He’s suddenly reminded that Sarah and the boys are supposed to come over.

And he still hasn’t washed the hospital off of him.

“When is Sarah coming?” He asks, and Bucky looks down to check his watch.

“Five or so hours? She said she’d be here around six, and it’s a little after noon now.”

Sam taps his fingers against the bedside table absentmindedly, trying to work himself up to ask Bucky for help to get into the bath. Bucky has made it abundantly clear that he’s here to help, and would do anything for Sam, and Sam knows it. Bucky loves him, Sam loves him. It should not be this hard to ask him for help, especially for something as simple as a bath when he’s hurt and probably couldn’t run one himself. Sam doesn’t doubt that Bucky would draw him a bath every day if Sam asked, injured or not, which is why it’s so ridiculous that the words feel like they're stuck in his throat when he tries to ask.

He’s truly the worst patient ever.

“What do you need, Sammy?” Bucky questions gently, eyes focused on Sam’s fingers tapping. He knew something was up. “More food? Medicine? Bath?”

“Bath.” Sam confirms, it somehow becoming easier to ask after Bucky offered himself. “Please.”

Bucky smiles. Sam wishes it wasn’t so hard to ask for what he wanted, especially when it made Bucky smile wide like that, like Sam is the center of the universe. “Of course, Sammy. I’ll go start it. I can put that soak in it, if you’d like?”

Sam thinks for a moment. They have this one bath soak, mainly epsom salt but also infused with some herbs. It makes some bubbles in the water, has a pretty light and subtle rose smell, and is really, really good at helping muscles relax. Sam’s pretty sure he remembers it has something in it too that helps with colds, getting rid of mucus, which he could use with how his nose is right now.

“Yes.” He decides, and Bucky smiles wider.

“I’ll go start it.” Bucky places a chaste kiss on top of his head. “Be right back.”

As Bucky disappears into the on-suite bathroom, Figaro covers his face in his paws from where he’s curled up beside Sam.

“It’s just a bath.” Sam tells him, but it’s clear he’s pouting. “I’ll be back to cuddling you in an hour or two.” Sam assures, scratching him on the head and in between his ears, which seems to sate him at least a little bit. Figaro is usually clingy, but with Sam hurt he’s doubly so.

Sam hears the faucet turn on, and he knows it'll take him quite a while to get out of bed, so he decides to start now.

Figaro lifts his head up into Sam's hand to signal that he wants more pets, and he gives him one more scratch behind his ears, getting a pleased purr in response, and Sam discontentedly pulls the blanket off of himself, only getting up because he knows a nice, relaxing bath is waiting for him on the other side. Otherwise, it'd be impossible for him to separate from Figaro when he was looking up at Sam with those big hazel eyes and cuddling so nicely.

Sam swings his legs over the side of the bed, feet touching the carpet, as he works to get himself up. Even that amount of effort has his vision swimming, head aching, and Sam blinks rapidly to try and shake it off.

He takes a deep breath before planting his hands on the mattress, and then carefully pushes himself up. He's weak from nearly a week of being stuck in bed, a bit wobbly on his feet as he gets out of bed, and he immediately grabs the bedside table for stability, feeling lightheaded.

“Whoa-” Bucky comes back into the bedroom at that moment, quickly getting to Sam's side and helping him, one hand on his waist and the other on his shoulder. “-It's alright, I've got you.”

“I…” Sam catches his breath. He didn't realize how close he had been to fainting until now. “...I can do it.”

“Sam, it's okay.” Bucky holds him, Sam barely doing anything to keep himself upright at this point, it's all Bucky. “You've got a bad head injury. There's a reason you're on bedrest. Just let me help.”

As much as Sam wants to protest, he feels a lot better with Bucky helping to stabilize him, so he just nods.

Bucky holds him as he walks, slowly, one step at a time, from the bedroom to the bathroom. When he gets to the vanity, he braces his hands on the edge of the cold marble, happy to have a firm surface to hold onto.

“You alright if I check on the water?” Bucky asks, and Sam nods, swallowing thickly, head down, catching his breath. He's okay if he has something steady to hold onto.

As Bucky goes the few extra steps into the bathroom to check on the bathtub, Sam lifts up his head, and sees himself in the mirror.

“Fuck.” He blinks, hoping that maybe he's seeing things, and that the image in the mirror isn't really what he looks like right now, but no such luck. When he opens his eyes again, it's the same face staring back at him. Besides the huge beige cast across his nose and the little bits of dried blood crusted onto the skin around his nostrils, both of his eyes are horribly bruised, looking like black eyes, a huge expanse of purple taking up not only under his eyes and onto his cheeks, but also on his eyelid. His right eye looks a little worse, the size of the bruise bigger than it is on his left, but they're both pretty bad. Sam's been injured before, he knows the aftermath isn't pretty, but he didn't think it would be this nasty, especially with how long it's been. He supposed the surgery wasn't that long ago at all, and that's where most of the visible features are coming from, but that doesn't change the fact that it's his birthday, his sister and nephews are coming over soon, and half of his face is covered in a bruise.

“I look like shit.” Sam breathes out as he hears a quiet splash from the bath as Bucky dips his right hand into the water, testing the temperature.

“You don't.” Bucky objects, removing his hand from the water and wiping it off on the towel sitting on the side of the bath. He comes up behind Sam, gently placing his hands on Sam's waist, and kissing him on the cheek. “You're beautiful.”

“You're just saying that ‘cause we're dating.” Sam counters, seeing both himself and Bucky in the mirror, Bucky's face right up against his. Bucky's also looking at the mirror, but while Sam has a disgusted expression, looking at his own bruised and bloodied face, Bucky has a look of pure adoration, looking at Sam like there's nothing more beautiful, nothing more he'd rather be seeing than Sam's face, no matter what injuries it might have.

“Hm. Maybe.” Bucky peppers more kisses along Sam's neck. “I would be thinking it regardless, but maybe I wouldn't be saying it out loud if I didn't know you loved me too.”

Sam's brain is still lagging a bit behind, the concussion making him less sharp than usual, so he can't come up with a retort. He'd usually find some way to tease Bucky back, make fun of him for his staring “problem” or something, but he's again reminded of his injury, and trying to think of something to say feels like walking through a blizzard, disorienting and exhausting.

Sam feels like time slows, but maybe it just skips, because next thing he knows the heat from Bucky's body against his is gone, and when Sam turns his head to look to the side, he's instead on his knees looking through the cabinet under the sink.

The bath is almost full, so Sam figures he should probably start undressing. He slowly removes his hands from the edge of the vanity, and he immediately misses the security it provided, as he falters, almost tripping over his own feet the second he's no longer holding onto something for stability.

Regardless, he continues, trying to ignore the way his head hurts and the little bit of nausea pooling in his stomach. He leans down, aiming to pull his shirt off, but instead the tile floor gets closer and closer in his vision as he loses his balance completely and almost goes down. He would've fallen and hit his head again, probably worsening his injury, had Bucky not come at exactly the right moment, grabbing him by the shoulder and making him sit back against the wall.

“You're alright.” Bucky soothes as Sam comes back from the edge of fainting, the lightheadedness and nausea slowly easing with every passing minute, his vision becoming clearer again. It takes him a while to realize that Bucky's hands are still on his shoulders, grounding him, and Bucky is kneeling in front of Sam, watching him carefully, looking for any signs that he's going to pass out.

Eventually, Sam comes back to himself, the dizziness subsiding. The bathtub faucet isn't running anymore, it must've been turned off at some point, but Sam's not sure when.

“...sorry.” Sam apologizes, taking a deep breath, composing himself.

“Don't be.” Bucky says quietly, before pursing his lips. “You still want to take a bath?”

Sam nods. “Yeah. I'm fine now. Just…got a little dizzy there.”

Bucky huffs out a small laugh. “Yeah, maybe a little.”

“Shut up.” Sam retorts, settling into the banter, almost taking comfort in it, the normalcy in the teasing despite none of this being normal. Really, none of their lives are normal, Sam's life hasn't been normal since he put on the wings and he doesn't think Bucky considers his life to be normal since he shipped out eight decades ago. Still, Sam being so weak he can barely stand is still so far out of their normal (Sam being hurt isn't that out of the ordinary, it's more rare that he doesn't have some sort of minor injury, but him being this hurt is) that just having Bucky here and having their banter like usual makes him feel so much better.

“Here, let me help…” Bucky grabs the hem of Sam's t-shirt. Sam gets the memo and puts his arms up, and Bucky carefully pulls it up, over Sam's head and outstretched arms, until it's off. There's no lightheadedness this time, likely since he didn't have his head upside down.

Next, Bucky stands up and holds his hands out, and Sam takes them, using it as leverage to stand up. He steadies himself with his hands on Bucky's shoulders as Bucky takes his sweatpants off, Sam stepping out of them carefully.

They move over to the bathtub, and he holds onto Bucky's shoulders for stability as he steps into the tub, one foot at a time. The water temperature is nice, warm but not too warm, and the gentle smell of roses from the bath soak reaches him. He takes a deep breath of it, and immediately feels like he's breathing better, like the bath is clearing out his nose, all the congestion easing.

Bucky helps him lower himself into the bath until he's sitting, back against the tub, body immersed in the water up to his shoulders.

It's like an immediate switch, his muscles relaxing, all the stress from the week melting away.

He closes his eyes, soaking in the calamity, enjoying the much-needed stress relief.

He only opens his eyes a while later, when he hears the tell-tale sound of a cat jumping.

Figaro's fluffy face is right in front of him, the cat balancing precariously on the lip of the bathtub.

“You hate baths.” He reminds Figaro, who is eyeing the water with purpose. “You hate water, and you hate baths.”

The words don't seem to deter him at all, in fact Sam thinks he might have taken them as encouragement.

“Figaro.” Bucky's voice rings out, and Sam is momentarily surprised, not realizing he was still here, but Sam looks over and sees him sitting on the shower bathmat, reading a book. “Don't bother Sam.”

“He just wants me to get out because he wants to cuddle.” Sam explains, and he swears Figaro smiles at him.

“Do you want to get out?” Bucky asks, looking up from his book.

Sam only ponders the question for a moment, before remembering how nice the warm water feels and how relaxed he is, and thinking of leaving that behind makes his decision quick. “No.”

“C'mon, Figaro.” Bucky sets his book down on his lap, and although Figaro makes a small, indignant mewl, he does get down from the tub. Instead of hanging out outside the bath or leaving the room entirely, however, like Sam expected him to do, he goes over to Bucky and lays down on the bathmat, right up against him.

“Aw.” Sam coos. “He likes you.”

“He just wants me to give him treats.” Bucky counters, but he's scratching Figaro behind the ears even as he talks about him like his only motivation in life was to annoy Bucky.

Bucky can deny it, but Sam knows Figaro loves him, and Bucky can't resist falling in love with any cat, but especially one who Sam loved at first sight.

Sam smiles before closing his eyes again, leaning back against the tub, sighing contently as the warm water continues to melt away his stress.

~~~~~~~~~

Sam does end up having to get out of the bath not that long after, before his fingers get wrinkly, although he would love to have stayed in there all day. Bucky helps him get out and get dressed in a navy sweatshirt and gray sweatpants and then back into bed, before he leaves for the kitchen, saying that he's preparing dinner, but he's tight-lipped as to what exactly he's making, saying he wants it to be a surprise.

He’s in bed, eyes closed but not quite sleeping, just getting a little bit of rest before Sarah and the boys get here, when he hears a sharp knock from the window.
Sam knows exactly who it is. There’s only one of his friends who would knock on a window rather than just straight up open it, and he’s sure his visitor would do that too if he had opposable thumbs.

Sam very slowly rises from bed, making sure he’s always stabilizing himself somehow, first by holding on the mattress, then the bedside table, and the wall for a couple steps, before he makes it to the windowsill. He can see feathers through the small bit of window showing through the curtain, although he tries not to look at it much. It’s still light outside, although the sunlight is much less harsh that it was in the morning, but it’s still too much for him to look at for more than a second.

He looks the other way as he pulls the curtain aside, and then undoes the latch on the window, pulling it up a little bit before he ends up fully exhausted again and sits down against the wall, facing away from the light coming in through the window.

The lack of opposable thumbs doesn’t stop Redwing from prying the window open the rest of the way, and he flies into the bedroom, perching on the bedside table.

Figaro, who had been sleeping peacefully on the bed, screeches and runs out of the room as quickly as possible when he sees the hawk.

“Don’t know why he doesn’t like me.’ Redwing comments, watching the cat scramble out of the room. Redwing’s voice is full volume, and Sam cringes, the concussion making sound sensitive. Everybody has only been whispering to him since he woke up in the hospital, but Redwing didn’t seem to get the memo.

“Maybe ‘cause the first time you met you tried to pick him up?” Sam proposes, bringing his hands up to cover his ears.

Redwing notices “Oh, shit. Right, you’re all messed up. I can be quiet.” True to his word, it's said in a much, much quieter voice. Probably as quiet as a hawk can get when talking to a human that can understand them.

“So you heard, huh?” Sam asks, already knowing the answer. Redwing knows a lot. He probably knows a bunch of shit he doesn’t even tell Sam. He’s Sam’s eye in the sky, so to speak, watching things when Sam can’t.

“Of course. When you went down, I went right to the scene, they were already putting you in the ambulance, so I followed you to the hospital. But they put you in a room without a window, which, rude. It’s like they were asking me to fly in to check on you.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “What did I tell you about flying into public places?”

“I would not have been a nuisance.” Redwing says as if he’s offended by the insinuation, but they both know he absolutely would have been a nuisance. It’s hard for him not to be, most buildings aren’t built with a bird with a wingspan of over 4 feet in mind.

There’s also the added detail that Redwing is a menace. He couldn’t care less about any human besides Sam, and he only tolerates Sam’s friends. When a human is in danger he’d come to their aid, but that’s about it when it comes to anybody besides Sam.

“Anyway.” Redwing continues. “Then they moved you to a hospital down here, which was much better, ‘cause you had a room with a huge window.”

“Yeah, they have some nice rooms there. Still glad I didn’t have to spend my birthday there, though.” Sam agrees, and Redwing’s golden eyes go wide.

“Shit! I remembered, I swear, I have a gift, it’s right outside!”

“Oh, no, that’s okay-” Sam tries, a little terrified about what kind of “gift” Redwing found, but he was already flying back out the window before Sam could get the words out.

It’s only a few seconds later when he flies back in, something crinkling in his talons, and he drops it on the floor in front of Sam before going back to perching on the bedside table.

It’s a bag of chips. A small one, like a snack-sized bag.

“Did you steal this?” Sam questions, reaching out and grabbing the bag. There’s a big hole in the center from where Redwing’s claws had been.

“Uh. No?” Redwing responds suspiciously.

“You stole this.” Sam says, not a question this time.

Sam swears Redwing rolls his eyes at him. “Ugh, you’re no fun.”

“Where did you get this?” Sam presses.

“It was one bag from a big grocery store! What are they going to care?” Redwing sighs.

This is what Sam means by calling Redwing a menace.

“Come on, you’re Captain America, you save people all the time, the Earth would’ve probably died by now if it wasn’t for you, and it’s your birthday. Eat the chips.” Redwing argues. “Plus, it’s rude to reject a present.”

“It’s rude to steal.” Sam retorts, incredibly hypocritically considering some of the things he’s done, but he does open the bag of chips (properly, not using the hole Redwing’s claw had made). He didn’t even realize it before, but they’re pickle chips, his favorite.

“Aw, you know my favorite chips.” Sam starts eating. He wasn’t that hungry, and was going to wait to eat until dinner, which is probably less than an hour away, but he’s not going to turn down pickle chips as a birthday gift.

Redwing huffs, as if he’s mad he got caught caring about Sam.

“So…” Sam decides to broach the subject. “Have you heard anything about Sidewinder?” Sam knows Bucky told him not to worry about it, and that others were on it, but knowing he’s still out there is concerning Sam a little bit. There had to be a reason he attacked Sam now after a year of radio silence, and Sam is worried that he’s planning something.

“I have.” Redwing says a little proudly, puffing out his chest a little bit. “I have this woodpecker I know, long story, and he knows this blue jay, and the blue jay knows this cardinal, and the cardinal knows this robin, and the robin said that he saw a guy trying to hide out in an old abandoned warehouse a little bit outside of Tulsa, and that’s probably our guy.”

Sam blinks a couple times, trying to follow the amazingly long line of hearsay. “Uh. Alright. I’ll get something to look into it.” Some guy hiding in a warehouse in Oklahoma didn’t necessarily point directly to Sidewinder, but it should probably be checked out regardless. Even if it’s not him, somebody hiding in an abandoned warehouse most likely meant something was going on there.

“Look into what?”

Sam nearly jumps out of his skin, not realizing that Bucky had come into the room until he speaks. Redwing on the other hand, very pointedly turns his head away from Bucky, clearly showing his displeasure.

Again, Redwing only tolerates Sam’s friends…and that includes his boyfriend as well.

“Sidewinder might be in an abandoned warehouse outside of Tulsa.” Sam fills Bucky in, and he nods.

“You want to send Yelena and Ava, just to scope it out?” Bucky offers.

“Yeah. As long as it’s just to scope it out, I want all hands on deck if it is him.” Sam agrees, and Bucky takes his phone out of his pocket and begins texting.

“Alright. Now…” Bucky looks between Sam, sitting on the floor next to the window, and Redwing on the table. “...you need to be back in bed.”
“Buzzkill.” Redwing comments, before flying over to the windowsill. “Happy birthday, Sam. See you later.”

“Bye, buddy.” Sam bids him farewell, and Redwing is gone a second later, flying back out into the Delacroix sky.

Bucky closes the window, fixes the curtain so it’s only letting a little bit of light in again, and helps Sam up and back into bed.

“Sarah and the boys will be here soon.” Bucky informs, but there’s a little bit of a cunning glint in his eye, probably unnoticeable to most, but Sam knows Bucky so well that he knows it’s something.

Bucky has something planned, and he’s keeping it a secret.

Sam decides not to question him further, although he is suspicious, and he’d be lying if he said his mind didn’t wander to what the secret could possibly be as he waited for Sarah and the boys to arrive.

~~~~~~~~~

“Boys, be quiet!”

Sarah’s voice was a warning that came only about two seconds before AJ and Cass ran into his room, both jumping onto the bed.

“Happy birthday uncle Sam!” They whispered in unison, smiling widely.

“Thanks, you two.” Sam was already sitting up in bed, pillows behind him so his back wasn’t against the headboard. Bucky had come in maybe ten minutes ago and given Sam another dose of his meds, so he wouldn’t be in too much pain for the party.

“Boys, come on, get off the bed, don’t be rude.” Sarah stood in the doorway, two gift bags in her hand, one a light, sky-like blue with a bird pattern and one white with a balloon print.

“No, no, it’s fine.” Sam was glad to have his nephews here, and since he was stuck in bed, they might as well be here with him too.

Sam shook her head, walking into the room and placing the gift bags on the dresser.

“Dinner is ready, if you are?” Bucky asked, taking Sarah’s previous spot in the doorway.

“Yeah, I’m ready.” Even with the pickle chips, Sam was pretty hungry by now. He was also quite interested to finally find out what Bucky had been cooking. Sam knows he smells some kind of seafood, but he’s not completely sure exactly what.

“Alright, six bowls, coming up.” Bucky leaves, and Sam’s brows furrow.

“Are you eating two servings of my birthday dinner?” He calls out to Bucky, but his question is answered a second later, when somebody else appears in the doorway.

“Surprise!’

“There he is.” Sam smiles, looking at Joaquín, who looks like he just came in, hair ruffled like he just took off his helmet. He also had two gift bags in his hands, one with the Avengers logo all over it and the other with a big cartoon salmon on the front.

“I knew you were hiding something.” He points a finger at Bucky when he returns, three bed trays under his arm and two bowls, one in each hand.

Bucky just shrugs, carefully so he doesn’t drop anything, before placing both bowls on the bedside table so he can unfold one of the trays, during which Sam gets a look at what’s inside.

It’s definitely mac’n’cheese, and that alone is enough to give Sam a pretty good idea of exactly what it is.

His mom used to make shrimp, lobster, and crawfish mac’n’cheese for special occasions. After one of them had a big test at school, after Sam had a good baseball game or after Sarah had a good soccer game, after Gideon had a successful art showing. Their mom always made sure to reward them for doing their best at school and achievements in their hobbies. Later, when Sam joined the engineering club, his parents never once tried to stop him or get him to stop doing baseball as well. Despite money being a little tight, the three of them were always encouraged to do what they wanted, whether that was sports or art or engineering or cooking. He’d never forget how overjoyed their mom was when Sarah took an interest in cooking, and their dad was pretty happy when a toddler Sam held the toy fishing rod he’d gotten for his third birthday all day and pretended to fish out of a puddle in the yard.

“This is what you were making all day?” Sam asks as Bucky places the tray over his lap and puts one of the bowls on it.

“I gave him mom’s recipe, if he messed it up it’s not on me.” Sarah remarks.

Bucky sets up the other trays, putting one in front of AJ and Cass, and the other in front of Joaquín, who’d also come to sit on the bed. He gives the other bowl to Joaquín, but he doesn’t make a move to start eating, waiting until everybody else gets theirs.

Somehow, Bucky comes back with the rest of the four bowls, two balanced on each hand, like he’s a cartoon character that works in a restaurant. AJ and Cass take a bowl from him when he comes over to them, and he gives the other bowl to Sarah, who's standing by the dresser.

“Shit, I forgot drinks.” Bucky suddenly realizes, and Sarah pats him on the back.

“Don’t worry, I got it.” She says, and soon they all have a bowl and a can of lemonade.

“Birthday boy first.” Joaquín prods. “Then you can tell us if it’s poison.”

“Hey!” Bucky interjects, and Sam just laughs.

This is exactly what he wanted from his birthday. His family here.

Sam takes Joaquín's offer, grabbing a spoon and digging in.

It's creamy, the cheese perfect, a little smoky and spicy, and he gets a piece of lobster on his first bite, cooked just right.

Sam can tell Bucky followed the recipe exactly, each measurement and timing precise. He's gotten it almost exactly right.

He can also tell he put a hell of a lot of time into it.

Sam feels comforted, not only by the food but by the fact that Bucky did all of this for him.

“It's good.” He says. “It's really good. Thank you, Bucky.”

Sam swears Bucky's shoulders relax, releasing a deep breath he might've not even realized he'd been holding.

At Sam's approval, everybody else begins eating. Sarah even gives a little nod of satisfaction at her first bite.

They eat, four of them on the bed while Sarah and Bucky stand over by the window, talking about something. As he's eating, he listens to AJ and Cass tell him stories about their time at school recently and Joaquín telling him about the flight over.

“Hey uncle Sam!” AJ chimes in after Cass finishes telling a story about the goal he scored in his last soccer game. “You know my birthday is coming up?”

“In January, yeah?” Sam had already made a note on his calendar that absolutely nothing was to be scheduled for AJ's birthday or the day before or after. He'd try to get more time off, but for now he was determined to get at least those three days to spend with him.

AJ nods. “Yeah. And I'm gonna be 15?”

“I can't believe it.” And really, Sam can't. He remembers holding AJ when he was just born, riddled with grief after losing Riley but looking down at this little bundle in his arms, this little baby, his nephew, only a few hours old yet smiling the cutest little smile, and realizing there was still happiness in the world.

“Yeah, well, mom says I should start sitting right by the control area of the boat when we go fishing, so I can start learning, since I can get my license at 16.”

Technically, both AJ and Cass could operate a motorboat right now, the age minimum is ten, but Sarah didn't want them driving anything until they were 16. Sam was on the water driving the day he turned ten, but he also got the boat stuck multiple times and almost got hurt countless times, so Sam doesn't think the rule is necessarily a bad idea.

“Well, I'll have to take you soon and teach you.” Sam promised. “Once I'm better, alright? And I'll still take you guys to that adventure park too, once I'm able to get out of bed.” He did feel guilty that he'd told the boys a few weeks before that they'd be able to go when he got time off his birthday, he'd even pinky-promised Cass, but considering he can barely stand without fainting right now, it would still be a bit before he could fulfill that promise.

“It's alright, uncle Sam.” Cass was very determinedly digging through his mac'n'cheese, probably looking for more meat. “I'm just happy you're not in the hospital anymore.”

Sam smiled. “Me too, bud. Me too.”

A little later, when they're all done, Sarah and Bucky take all the bowls back to the kitchen, but they come back with a cake, candles lit, and they start singing, and everybody else quickly joins in.

They sing to him, and when the cake, buttercream frosting covered in sprinkles with a confetti cake underneath, gets placed on his tray, he thinks about what he's going to wish for.

He doesn't have to think long.

When he blows the candles out, he wishes for the next birthday to be just like this…minus the injury, of course.

~~~~~~~~~

Once they're done with cake, AJ and Cass are extremely excited for presents.

Bucky brings all the gifts over, the two gift bags Sarah brought, the two Joaquín brought, and three Bucky brought in, one a simple black gift bag, one a small box wrapped in shiny blue wrapping paper, and the last one a gift bag with a cartoon version of himself in the cap suit- Bucky laughs when he sets it down, whispering “I had to.”

“Me and AJ's first!” Cass points to the light blue gift bag with birds printed all over it.

“Cass.” Sarah scolds gently. The boys and Joaquín are still next to him on the bed, while Sarah and Bucky are standing. “It's uncle Sam's birthday, he gets to decide.”

Cass’ face falls, and Sam knows exactly what his decision will be.

“Well, I chose this one first.” He picks up the bird gift bag, and Cass lights up, clearly very happy with Sam's choice.

Sam takes out the tissue paper, closing his eyes and reaching into the bag, pulling out a box with a lot of little pieces shaking inside.

When he opens his eyes, he understands why Cass was so excited.

It's a Lego set of…well, himself. It's his navy suit, wings and shield and all.

“Do you like it?” AJ asks, and Sam can't help but give both of the boys a huge grin.

“I love it.” Sam assures. “Thank you two.”

“They put together their money from chores to get that.” Sarah informs, and that makes Sam's heart melt even more. He can imagine the boys seeing it in the store, and trying to figure out what chore money they'd have to use to get it for him. Honestly, Cass probably told the cashier that their uncle is Captain America, he wastes no opportunity to brag about his uncle Sam.

“Maybe we can build it together later?” Sam offers, and he didn't think it was possible for Cass to get more excited, but now he looks like he's about to start jumping on the bed in pure elation.

“As long as you're still feeling up to it.” Bucky replies, a big smile on his face too.

“Alright, next gift…” Sam looks over the array in front of him, and his gaze lands on the bag covered in the Avengers logo.

“That's from all of the Avengers.” Joaquín tells him, although it wouldn't be too hard to figure out.

He takes out the beige tissue paper and is greeted with more tissue paper, concealing something inside. He assumes it's breakable, so he unwraps it carefully. He feels the handle of a mug right before he gets it fully out, and he gives a small laugh when he sees what's on it- the shield, and the words “Best Captain Ever” written in big block letters.

“Thank you. I'll display it proudly.” He picks up the other bag Joaquín brought, the one with the salmon on it. It's a lot bigger than every other present, and that alone intrigues Sam, wondering what Joaquín could've possibly gotten him that required this big of a bag.

There's only one sheet of tissue paper on top, covering the gift that is almost spilling out of the already-huge gift bag.

He pulls it out, and is greeted with a big, round plush of Mike the Tiger, Louisiana State University's mascot. Him and Joaquín playfully argue a lot about college sports, so Mike the Tiger versus Sebastian the Ibis was a common topic in their conversations.

Sam cannot believe Joaquín would get him a big plush of Mike. He would think Joaquín would think it was bad luck to buy it.

He voices as such, and Joaquín crossed his arms, faking disgust. “Yeah, I thought a bunch of ibises would fly in through the window and start attacking me for the betrayal.”

Next, he opens the one from Sarah with the balloon print. It's his favorite kind of fishing shirt, long-sleeved with moisture-wicking fabric.

He opens the black gift bag Bucky brought in, and Bucky immediately prefaces it by saying it's from Yelena, something dumb she found while shopping and thought he'd like.

It's a pair of crew socks, primarily green with some orange accents and decorated with an all-around embroidered pattern of bass, the phrase “I'd rather be fishing” written across the top cuff.

“Tell her thanks.” He says to Bucky. “I think they're cool.”

The other two gifts are from Bucky, the one in the box being a new underwater camera for fishing, which Sam is pretty grateful for considering his current on is on its last legs, and the bag has a Dodgers sweatshirt, the inside lined with fleece, perfect for D.C. or New York fall or winter.

He gets a couple cards too, one from Leila, another from Sharon, all wishing him a happy birthday.

Once all the presents are opened, Bucky goes to clean up and Sarah offers to help, while him, the boys, and Joaquín start building the Lego set- Cass assigns them all jobs, with him and AJ making the legs and arms and setting up the wings, Joaquín getting the torso, and Sam designated for the head.

Sam isn't the fastest at building, he's getting pretty tired, truth to be told. His hands are a little shaky and sometimes he needs to just set the bricks down for a few moments and have a break, but he does do his job and get the head done.

They give Sam the honor of connecting all the pieces together, AJ saying “it is your birthday, after all”, so Sam carefully, a little afraid to break anything, connects the head to the torso, the wings and legs and arms to the torso, and finally the shield in one of his hands.

It's not long after that Sarah says they should head home, much to AJ and Cass’ disappointment. Sam is disappointed too, he loves spending time with the boys, but he could really use a rest.

Him and Bucky have to goad Joaquín into taking the guest room, him insisting he could fly from D.C. and back in less than 24 hours, and while he could if he needed, there's no reason he has to be back to D.C. immediately. Sam's worried about it being too windy as well, he can hear the thunder outside. Eventually, with enough convincing, Joaquín agrees to stay the night, which helps Sam's stress levels lower a lot. He'd be worried all night about Joaquín getting back safe if he'd gone.

It's almost 9pm by the time Sam gets to really rest again, laying his head back down, multiple pillows stacked up to keep his head elevated, and when Alpine and Figaro decide to come back and cuddle. According to Bucky, Alpine had been watching the door with intensity while they had company, checking to make sure nobody else came into their home, and Figaro had been hiding in the guest room. Figaro liked people, but not too many at a time. Crowds were far from his favorite. Alpine liked to sound the alarm when there was an “inturder”, but she’s fine with Sarah, the boys, and Joaquín, like they’re on an approved guest list or something. Sam does wonder where she was when Redwing flew in, she’s still not a fan of any of the birds that visit the birdfeeder outside or build nests in the birdhouses they have scattered around, but she especially isn’t happy with birds in in the house. She might’ve just been too inthralled with Bucky cooking, meowing to beg for some of it. Considering he was cooking seafood, that was probably it.

Sam would love to say he fell asleep and woke up in the morning, getting a good nights sleep and a good end to his birthday.

Instead, he has a nightmare.

He’s surrounded by blood, pooling at his feet, and he knows it’s not his, but it’s on his hands. He hears his dad telling him to go find his mom, the last words he heard from him. He hears Karli groan as her heart stops beating. He hears the last call he had with Dennis ring in his ears. He hears Riley scream, the voice crackling in his comms line until it goes completely dark, he hears the explosion that took him out.

He hears his mom tell him she loves him for the last time.

The blood gets in his mouth, and he feels like he’s suffocating, tasting copper.

He bolts upright, coughing out blood.

It stains the blanket, the sheets, dripping from his nose.

He’s back to real life, in bed, and yet there’s still so much blood.

“Sammy, sammy-” Bucky’s hands are on him, pushing him forward, making his body lean forward as he keeps coughing. “-stay up, you’ve got it.”

“Buck-” He tries to say, but it sounds wet and distorted as more blood comes up.

“Stay forward. I’ll be right back.” Bucky orders, and Sam does his best, his lungs burning, although his coughs are coming up dry now. His nose is still bleeding, covering the lower part of his face. He’s still tasting blood, but he thinks it’s because some of it flowing from his nose is going straight into his open mouth,

Bucky comes back with a bowl, putting it in Sam’s lap, and it starts catching the blood falling from his nose. The blanket and sheets are already a lost cause, but at least it’s something.

Bucky pulls a handful of tissues from the box on the nightstand, holding them just under Sam’s nose. “Keep them at your nostril, no pressure.”

Sam’s too out of it to do anything except follow Bucky’s instructions. If he hadn’t just woken up from a nightmare in a panic, his own extensive first aid knowledge would’ve come in and he’d have thought of all of these things himself, but whether it’s the sudden blood loss or grogginess of sleep or gripping fear of the nightmare or all of those things together, he’s not thinking straight.

Bucky wets two washcloths in the sink, then presses them gently at Sam’s upper cheeks. They’re a little cold, but Sam is burning up, so it’s not unpleasant.

Eventually, his nose stops bleeding, only a few drops still coming out. Wordlessly, Bucky helps clean him up, wiping all the blood off his face and tears he hadn’t even realized he’d cried with another washcloth. He helps him drink almost a full glass of water, which helps the soreness in his throat from all the coughing. He gets Sam some more of the saline and decongestant spray, and applies more vaseline to his nostrils.

He gets Sam out of bed, helps him change into new clothes, some blood having made its way on his sweatshirt, and then sits him on the lip of the bathtub while he strips the bed.

Sam only starts to come back to himself then, the fogginess clearing and his mind getting fully back online.

“Hey Buck?” He asks, voice low and a little scratchy.

“Yeah?” Bucky is just removing the sheet, little blood splatters dotting it. The blanket had gotten the worst of it, but the sheet wasn’t left unharmed.

“...do you think I’m bad luck?” Sam grips the cold porcelain as he asks, afraid he’s going to fall off and into an endless pit where he’ll just keep falling and falling for the rest of eternity.

Bucky takes a deep, long breath, balls up all the blankets and sheets, and drops them on the floor, going over to Sam.

He puts his hands on Sam’s shoulders, looking him in the eyes, not staring, just…looking.

He’s not looking at him with pity, or worry, or anger.

He’s just looking at him with love.

“No, Sammy. I don’t.” He says, so sure, as sure as Sam’s ever heard him be. “Can we talk about this once we get back in bed?”

Sam nods slowly. Bucky obviously has more to say on the matter, and Sam thought he’d be worried, talking about this, but instead he feels oddly comforted. Like everything is suddenly sunshine and rainbows again, from just a single assurance from Bucky.

Sam gets it whispered to him by the Avengers, even by the Thunderbolts, on the rare occasion he sees them, that Bucky is absolutely, undoubtedly, head-over-heels for him. That Bucky would follow him to the ends of the Earth.

But Sam doesn’t think people realize how in love with Bucky Sam is as well, that his voice alone makes Sam feel safe, feel at home. That when Bucky is with him, the rest of the world melts away.

Sarah always knows, though. She’s teased Sam about it the second she caught Sam staring at him, pushing his sleeves up and wiping sweat from his brow as he was cleaning the boat. She had to elbow him to get him to stop, and then gave him a knowing look.

He thinks Sarah knew he loved Bucky before Sam knew it himself.

After Bucky put the blood-soaked bedding in the washing machine, he grabs another bundle of sheets and blankets from the bathroom closet. Sam watches as he puts them on, Alpine weaving in between his legs as he tries to put the sheets on around Figaro, who’d already laid back down, deciding the bare mattress was good enough for him.

Once the bed is made, Bucky helps him get back under the covers, and then gets back in himself. Bucky lays right next to Sam, shoulder to shoulder. Alpine curls up by Bucky’s leg while Figaro stretches out at the foot of the bed.

“You’re the best luck.” Bucky says, breaking the silence, voice so light and gentle and loving.

Sam swallows thickly. “I’m surrounded by death.”

“Sammy-”

“I am. Everybody who loves me dies.” Sam knows it’s irrational. Sometimes, people just die. But it always seems to follow him, like he gives somebody a poison prick when they care for him, marking them for death. It’s even worse when he thinks about who wouldn’t have died if he had made a different choice. He could’ve ran and gotten help for his dad, like he told him too, but instead he stayed. He could’ve gone to the store instead of his mom, and then she wouldn’t have been there at the wrong place at the wrong time. He could’ve spotted the RPG before it got too close, he could’ve warned Riley, if he had only been looking in the right place. He could’ve gotten Karli out of there, he could’ve been there for Dennis, he could’ve tried harder in the fight and maybe then none of them would have gotten snapped and Natasha wouldn’t have had to die.

But instead, he’s here, a trail of bodies behind him.

Bucky takes a big breath, then says quietly, “I think it’s amazing so many people have loved you.”

Sam turns, looking over at him. “What?”

“You’re so…kind. So amazing. The kind of guy that nobody could hate unless they were just a miserable person. The kind of guy everybody wants to be friends with, everybody wants to love. You’re just…this ray of light. I don’t know, I just….” Bucky pauses, pursing his lips. “This is probably the wrong thing to say, but…you’ve made everybody’s lives better by being in them. I don’t think you’re bad luck, or cursed, or anything. I think you’re the biggest blessing in my life, and I doubt I’m the only one that thinks so.”

Sam is left speechless.

Bucky grabs his hand, squeezing it. “Sam, death…it happens. It fucking sucks. But you’re so far from this rain cloud that you think you are. You’re the sun. I just…I wish you loved yourself as much as I do.”

Sam doesn’t know what to say, besides, “I love you.”

He sees Bucky’s lips curve into a smile. “I love you too, Sam.”

They lay together, hands intertwined, just together, for a while. They don’t fall asleep, just take in each other’s warmth, each other’s love.

Eventually, Sam remembers they have a guest.

“...do you think my nosebleed commotion woke Joaquín up?” He asks.

“I doubt it.” Bucky almost laughs. “He was in a deep sleep the second his head hit the pillow.”

Sam smiles. “Thank you for the birthday.”

“Wasn’t too bad?”

“No.” Sam says, and he means it. He had a great day, all things considered. He got to spend it with his favorite people in the whole world, and that’s really all he could ever ask for. “It was wonderful.”

“I’m glad.” Bucky cuddles up to him a little closer, places a kiss on his cheek. “Happy birthday, honey.”

And with that, Sam falls asleep.