Archive of Our Own

“What do you think about retiring?”

Bucky ducks underneath a fallen support beam, missing a bullet that whizzes past his ear by mere inches.

“Right now, all I’m thinking about is surviving this fight.” Bucky shouts back, his eyes flitting over every anomaly in his general vicinity. Two hostiles on the left, one on the right. They all know where he is, but not who he is.

Sam’s beautiful laugh rings through his head, or more precisely, through their comms. “Yeah, but after this.” He prompts, followed by the sound of some grunting before Sam heaves out a breath. That’ll be another hostile down.

Bucky rolls his eyes, pulling his gun from his thigh holster and aiming it at one of the hostiles on the left. “I don’t know Sam,” He whispers, scanning the area for something to help him out here. He finds an unstable window. “Can we talk about this later?” Bucky shoots the glass and watches it shatter all over the hostiles. “I’m kinda busy.”

Before Bucky has any chance to make his next move, the hostile on the right seizes up and collapses onto the floor. The other two look at him in alarm, before one is shot in the shoulder, and the other is left gasping between the two of them.

Then, there from the heavens like the angel he is, Sam descends and drop kicks the third and final hostile. Leaving Bucky to gape at his assignment completed, yet again, by the one and only Captain America.

Figures.

“You ruin all of my fun.” Bucky grumbles, coming out of his piss-poor hiding spot.

Sam grins at him, never ashamed to finish the things Bucky starts. “You’re an old man, and you were taking forever. I got sick of waiting.”

Preaching to the choir here.

With a roll of his eyes, Bucky slides his gun back into the holster and scans the three men on the floor. None of them are dead – Captain America and his Avengers try their best to stick to non-lethal at all times, thank you very much – but they also all need to be seen by some kind of medic.

Before Bucky can even finish the thought, Sam is pressing his comms and speaking into it, requesting medical assistance. Thanks to his super-soldier hearing, Bucky can hear Hill responding on the other end.

In order to feel somewhat helpful, Bucky steps towards Sam and bodily turns him around, so he can access the back of the wing pack and pull out three sets of zip-tie handcuffs.

Once the three hostiles are in custody, and people have come to collect them, Sam and Bucky are free to help with the clean-up. Usually it takes hours, but because the hostiles only managed to accomplish half of their plan, there is only one floor that is actually a hazardous area.

Bucky is more than happy to lend his strength to help the cleaning efforts, and Sam is forever the perfect angel who handles the press while also helping the post mission shit.

They spend the hours between the end of their fight and the moment they’re allowed to leave catching stray seconds to send each other all types of looks. Sam winks at him, grimaces when he’s dealing with something tiring, but ultimately always has a smile for him.

Bucky? Well Bucky imagines all he manages is a couple love-sick smiles, with some heart eyes sprinkled in. Pathetic, that’s what he is.

All those hours later, Sam tracks Bucky down and grabs him by his Vibranium bicep. “Yours tonight?” He asks, his voice husky under the sound of people milling about around them.

This tradition they’ve come up with, to camp out at whoever’s place is closest is something Bucky tries to bring himself to regret. All it does is make Bucky’s sad pining worse, and he really does try to resent their arrangement. But he can’t. Bucky will take Sam being as close as he allows for as long as he allows. As long as he’s there.

They’re in Pennsylvania, so it only makes sense for them to stay at Bucky’s.

It’s just. Look.

“So, not much has changed then?” Sam says, taking in the abysmal lack of items in Bucky’s Brooklyn apartment.

It’s not his fault, alright? He’s been meaning to go out and get things. Find a bedframe, find some couches, and a couple coffee tables. He’s been meaning to get decorations.

But then things happen; Sam needs him, Sarah and the boys want him to visit, Steve’s grave needs tending to, Yelena wants to see him.

He has been busy, okay?

“I’ve been busy, Sam, it’s fine.”

Sam sucks his teeth, looking around at the space, and all of its scarcity. “Man, I’d agree with you, if you at least had a table,” Sam steps further into the place, finding the pile of blankets and a thin pillow on the floor. The very thing that serves as Bucky’s bed. “Still struggling to use the mattress?”

Bucky doesn’t entertain giving a verbal answer, but apparently the lack of one is answer enough. Sam places his things on the floor, anywhere considering there’s more than enough space for it, and approaches Bucky.

He doesn’t say anything, a response to Bucky’s lack of answer, but when he gently grabs the warm fabric covering Bucky’s right shoulder, sparing him a small smile, Bucky hears what he would say. 

I’ve got you.

****

Sam apparently can’t learn his lesson, because they’re in the midst of another important assignment when he mentions this whole ‘retirement’ malarkey.

They’re in the middle of a stealth op, hoping not to fight at all, but to gather information. Sam is eight floors away, up high where he likes to be, while Bucky follows a pair of people from a safe distance on the ground floor.

“Have you had any thoughts of retiring?” Sam whispers, and Bucky can’t help but flush at the obvious smile in Sam’s voice.

Bucky makes sure his voice is as low as it can go. “Should I be taking this personally?” Bucky answers, staring at the pair to make sure neither of them notices him talking.

It’s a minute before Sam responds, and while Bucky would panic if it were anyone else, he knows Sam is just waiting for the best time to talk, considering their circumstances. “No, just think you deserve it, s’all.”

Bucky bites his lip, trying not to audibly huff out a laugh at him. “And you don’t?” He snarks back, imagining the look on Sam’s face. His pretty smile.

Sam lets out a tiny huff. “I don’t want to retire; I’m just checking if you do.”

There isn’t a response for that. Nothing Bucky could say that wouldn’t reveal how gone he is for the man on the other end of the comms. “Less talking Wilson.”

“Oh, you haven’t called me that in a while, baby. Have I upset you?”

Sam is so incredibly lucky they’re on a stealth mission, and Bucky is a trained professional. If they were anywhere else, Bucky would have melted on the ground, probably moaned, and would do something to gravely damage his image.

But they’re on mission. So, all Bucky does is ignore it. Bottles it away for later when he’s alone, maybe in the shower, where he can pull this back out, hold it in his hand and pick it apart piece by piece, like his brain once was, and examine every shard he finds.

Until then, Bucky continues on with the mission.

****

Eventually, after Sam has brought it up during multiple other missions, over dinner in one of their homes, and in public around strangers, he brings it up in the worst place possible.

“That sounds like a great idea!” Sarah beams, pulling Bucky into a hug.

The boys are in front of the tv, one of their games paused, and their bodies angled backwards to face the trio of adults standing behind the sofa. “Uncle Bucky isn’t old enough to retire.” AJ says.

Bucky sees the exact second the words form in Sam’s mind and physically reaches out to slap him before he can speak, and butts in himself. “I know I don’t look it, but I’m still over a hundred years old.”

AJ puts on a puzzled face, before he grins and shuffles his body down so only the top of his head and his shoulders show over the edge of the couch. “Oh yeah.” He whispers, loud enough for only Bucky to hear him.

“The old man deserves a break.” Sam says a shit-eating grin on his face.

Bucky sighs, a long thing with his head down trying to disguise the smile on his lips. If Sam ever finds out Bucky enjoys when he jokes around with him about his age, he might lose those moments.

Sarah looks between them all, before twiddling her thumbs and turning to Bucky. “I don’t want to meddle,” She starts, and Sam scoffs. “But you don’t want to retire in Brooklyn,” She pauses, flicking her eyes to Sam. “Do you?” She adds in a tiny voice.

In all honesty, all of his thoughts of retirement have been piggybacked from Sam’s questions. He hasn’t sat down and had a proper think about it. All he’s done is offhandedly think about the fickle ideas of retirement. Nothing concrete.

But now that Sarah’s mentioned it, no. No, he does not want to retire in Brooklyn. While he loves the place, loves New York as a whole, and has worked damn hard to maintain happy memories of the place, it’ll always carry too much baggage.

His Ma died there, his sisters forgot him there, he lost the Steve he once knew, and Steve lost the Bucky he got back.

The answer must register on his face because Sarah is reaching out to cup his face and pull him into a hug, and Sam is stepping closer to place his hand on his shoulder. When Sarah steps back, Sam pulls him in, and Bucky relishes in it.

Sarah’s hug, her gentleness, has always felt sisterly to him. She’s like an older sister, or how he imagines one to be, and he loves her for it.

Sam, however. Sam’s hug, his heart and soul, means everything more to Bucky. It wasn’t a slow thing, falling in love with Sam. The second he got his mind back, it feels like, he was all in with him.

It all just goes even further then the boys scramble over the edge of the couch, fast enough that they bombard Bucky while Sam is still close. They crumple together into a hug of four sets of limbs, four hearts, and then Sarah tags on, making it five.

“There’s a place for sale,” Sarah murmurs, the moment kept tight together, even with the words. They slowly pull apart, and the boys laugh, starting to mess around behind Sam. “Just down the road from us.”

Yeah. Yeah, that sounds right.

****

The house is honestly nothing special. It’s built in the same style as Sarah’s, with a wrap around porch, and a direct view of the bayou. There are two storeys, with the living room, kitchen, a dining room, and bathroom downstairs. Upstairs, there is a bathroom and three bedrooms, and in Bucky’s mind, that means a room for him, a room for Sarah or Sam, and a room for the boys to use if they ever want to stay over.

He keeps those thoughts to himself, the picture of Bucky hosting all of the Wilsons one weekend so he can show a tiny amount of gratitude for their hospitality. So, he can prove he is a normal citizen again. To show that he is worthy of having a life after everything he’s done.

Had done to him. Been through. Whatever.

There is definitely a lot to do. None of the walls are colours he would pick; there is a sore lack of furniture – which is saying a lot from someone who used to only have a mattress and one couch – and there’s a distinct smell of mould. Not to mention the caving in ceiling.

Those are the reasons he got this place so cheap, and they are the very things that will keep him occupied, so he doesn’t have to constantly think about Sam. How much he misses Sam. How he can’t just turn and find him at his side anymore. How he has become a normal person, having to watch the news to find out what’s happening with Captain America.

How he might learn of Sam dying in action from a headline, rather than being there to prevent it himself.

Maybe retiring isn’t such a good idea. Maybe he should be out there right now-

“Man, you gotta stop thinking so loud.”

Bucky turns too fast; a stray strand of hair catches him in his eye. He winks to get the slight pain away, to no avail.

There Sam is, standing in Bucky’s new doorway, in his casual clothes. The blue jeans hug his thighs, while a rust coloured henley sticks to his chest. Bucky feels jealous of items of clothing. Pathetic.

“This is the right thing to do,” Sam starts, and Bucky will never understand how he always knows what’s going on in his head. “You deserve to have this.”

Bucky scoffs to cover the emotion climbing up his throat. “Thank you, Dr. Wilson.”

“Ha, ha, dickhead.”

Sam grins and Bucky can’t help but smile back at him.

Silence settles over them, as Bucky watches Sam properly investigate the place. Weirdly, he feels self-conscious, as if Sam will be able to tell that Bucky is madly pining for him based on the skirting boards of his newly bought house.

Sam puffs out a breath, slowly stepping around the room and eventually making his way to Bucky’s side. “I can definitely see you here.” He says, his voice quiet in the empty room.

“Yeah?” Bucky breathes, always seeking for his approval.

With a shit-eating grin, Sam knocks his shoulder against Bucky’s vibranium one. “Of course!” Bucky knows that face. “I can see you rocking in a chair over there,” Sam gestures to the corner of the room. “Shouting at the kids to get off your lawn like the grumpy old man you are.”

Bucky can’t help it; he lets out a full belly laugh. “You aren’t funny.” He says, fighting through his chuckles.

“Oh really? ‘Cause it sounds like I am quite funny.” Sam is grinning, and even after all this time, Bucky is nearly blinded by how beautiful he is.

“Get out of my house.” Bucky jokes, on edge ready to drag Sam back in if he actually tries to leave.

Thankfully, all he does is laugh, his head thrown back enough to leave the stretch of his neck on display, a place Bucky would love to know like the back of his hand. When he looks back over at him, Bucky feels the breath leave him, feels his face heat, and his lips spread into the lovey smile he’s sure Sam always sees on his face.

Sam shakes his head, his laugh puttering out, but his smile remaining on his face. “Let’s get to it then.”

****

It’s a slow thing, fixing the place. While Sam is convinced he’s an expert at DIY home renovations, Bucky is not. He only just manages to convince Sam out of ‘fixing’ the roof himself by threatening to sell the place and eventually gets Sam to settle on paying someone to do that.

He may also have to concede to Sam assisting with almost every other project, just to keep him happy. Bucky won’t complain.

Once the roof is fixed, Bucky plots out his plans for the place. Fix the floorboards here, mend the stairs so they don’t creak so much, tidy up the skirting boards, and so on and so on and so on.

It feels like it’s going to go on forever, but honestly, Bucky will take that. Anything to help the time in between Sam’s visits pass quicker.

Once the sale of his Brooklyn apartment goes through, everything seems to fall into some sort of routine. Bucky wakes up at dawn, the mattress under his body stiff but enough for the time being. He feeds himself, enough to get him to lunchtime, and gets to work on the inside jobs.

When the day has warmed up enough, something Bucky thrives in - the summers of Louisiana, he begins with the outside jobs. He fixes a window here, a doorframe there. The state of the garden leaves plenty to be desired, but Bucky knows that’ll be his pet project once the house is done.

Slowly, over lots of time, the place starts coming together.

Sam helps, in his own way. Everything gets tinkered with, stuff Bucky was sure was good enough, Sam perfects. He breathes life into the place, bringing over paint swatches even though Bucky is nowhere near done enough to paint yet.

He spends his off days there, putting some music on the small portable radio he’s commandeered from the shed at Sarah’s. The thing is crackly, probably older than Sam himself, but when he finds the right tuning, a station playing old songs they somehow both know, he starts to dance, and Bucky's life brightens.

They mess around, bicker, smile at each other over fences and new tables and broken doors. Music plays, Bucky’s heart grows, and Sam. Well. Sam changes everything for the better, in the way only he manages to.

****

The summer is ending, the days are darkening sooner, and the temperature is dropping more significantly. Bucky rushes to get everything outside set, enough so that he’s confident the place will survive winter. He works harder, wearing himself down to his bones, just so the place can be liveable.

Summer in the house was fine, good even. But Sarah is concerned about winter, knows the floods that can happen, knows of the storms they’ll face, so Bucky gets it done. When he’s sure the place is sealed, and can manage against the elements as much as any other house in Delacroix, he has Sarah over.

“I gotta say,” She starts, the boys trailing behind her, ducking under half finished furniture, and pretending to shoot one another. “I’m impressed.”

Bucky preens, happy to hear her approval, her voice in this place. In the background, the boys’ silly sound effects are bouncing around what will eventually be his living room, and Bucky can’t help but start imagining it all.

Perhaps a Christmas here, the boys sleeping in what’ll be their bedroom, waking up to thunder down the stairs and play with their new things around the tree. Sarah emerging from what’ll be her or Sam’s room, smiling at the peace of not hosting for once. Sam, coming from Bucky’s room. Maybe with Bucky in it-

“You’re gonna be great here.” Sarah says, quiet amongst the boisterous sounds of the room.

Bucky’s face reddens; he knows it. “Thank you.” He murmurs, stepping closer.

He smiles with wet eyes when Sarah uses both her hands to cup his face. “You’ll get there.” She whispers, and Bucky doesn’t know what she means, but appreciates it nonetheless.

****

When Sam finds out Sarah saw the house in its liveable state before he did, he ignores Bucky for the duration of dinner at Sarah’s.

She tuts at them, passing the bowl of salad to Bucky even though Sam was closer. “Give it a rest, Sammy.”

Bucky gently kicks Sam under the table. “Yeah, Sammy, give it a rest.”

Sam scowls at him. “Thin ice, old man,” Sam hisses, stabbing a piece of potato on his plate. “Thin, thin ice.”

Eventually he comes around, when Bucky lets him stay the night before their plans for a long day of decorating. “You’re lucky I’m forgiving.”

Bucky doesn’t manage to stop the scoff that leaps from his throat. The face he gets in return would turn him to stone, but Bucky just raises his hands in self defence. “Yes, I’m very lucky.” He answers, and Sam nods his head with a hum.

The next morning, Sam is up first, to no-one’s surprise. When Bucky manages to force his eyes open, the sun is just starting to shine above the horizon, and Sam is already dressed. “Man, you’re insane.”

Sam chuckles, pulling out some fruit from his bag and preparing it in the single bowl Bucky keeps in the place. He only has a hose outside and a bottle of dish soap at the moment, considering the plumbing isn’t up to scratch yet, so keeping dishes seems pointless.

While Sam has his breakfast and finishes off one of the bottles of water he brought with, Bucky pulls on his painting clothes. Once that’s done with, Sam has finished his breakfast, so Bucky settles down for his, not bothering to wash the bowl in between.

The plan for the day is to paint the living room, the hallway around the staircase, and maybe start the upstairs if they have time. They’re leaving the kitchen for now, as they’re still waiting on a plumber to get everything sorted.

He is still waiting on that; Bucky is waiting on that. Not the both of them. This is only Bucky’s home. He needs to remember that.

They get started, pulling the first can of paint open and using a thin plank of wood to stir it. Bucky had every intention of painting the whole place white and calling it a day, but then Sam dragged him to Home Depot, and took him down the paint swatches aisle.

Bucky had picked neutral things, thinking of the easiest things to touch up, the quickest things to rebuy if he needs to cover any scuffs or scratches. For the moment, Sam had allowed it.

He should have known it was too good to be true, though, because by the end of the week Sam had shown up with paint swatches and samples of all different colours. Sam managed to show Bucky the difference it would make by testing all colours on all of the walls and dragged him right back to pick again.

Now, Bucky has decided on a pale sage green colour for his living room, a bright sunshine yellow for the kitchen, and a gentle navy for his bedroom. The bathrooms are both going to be a sunset orange, and Bucky hasn’t decided on the other two rooms yet.

Somehow, he’s managed to keep his plans for those rooms close to his chest. He imagines Sarah has some inkling as to what the third room will be, considering he let it slip that it was the best one for two beds, but she hasn’t said anything.

They get started on the living room, each at opposite ends of the room, planning to meet in the middle. The space is big, enough room for a large couch, along with a couple armchairs, a few sidetables, and a coffee table for the centre of the room. Bucky has had thoughts of some bookshelves, with indents for decorations. In the centre of the main wall, there’s a fireplace with a boasting mantle, low enough that a suitable sized tv can be mounted on the wall.

The windows on the left are huge, enough so that Bucky has to custom order curtains, because no suitable website stocks the sizes he needs. On the right of the room is the hallway that leads to one of the bathrooms, after a staircase wide enough for two to pass at the same time.

As Bucky gets lost in the rhythm of the brushstrokes on the wall, he allows his mind to wander. It’s something he’s learning to accept, his mind not solely focused on one task at a time. All of his time alone, giving him the time to think.

Sam could spend every night here. He could cook them meals in the kitchen, wake up and go for a run, and return home to Bucky making them breakfast. Sam could fly away from their front garden, his suit ready to be activated once he’s in the fight. Bucky could tap into Redwing, keep an eye on him even from afar. Bucky could welcome him home, open arms and press a kiss to his lips-

Bucky shakes his head, refocusing on the paint in front of him. He looks to Sam and notices he’s covered a lot more wall than Bucky. Clearly, he’s not mastered the skill of thinking as he works quite yet.

****

He should have seen it coming, the darkness that never really goes away, coming to the forefront again. It’s been too easy, too good, for too long. Everything was going well enough for Bucky to think he was finally getting there, finally getting to his happy ending. But here it is, rearing its ugly head again, just when things got good.

Maybe he’s been thinking too much? Maybe all of his silence, aloneness, all of this thinking time, has been bad for him. He’s dreamt for too much and hasn’t been reminded of the nightmares he still carries often enough.

The work gets halted, the care he usually manages for his body slips, and his light dwindles. Not that there’s much there to lose.

Sam tries, Sarah too, but realistically Bucky knows he deserves to swim in this for a bit, deserves to feel it all. He knows he’s been spending too long ignoring it, pushing it down and praying it’ll go away, praying he can be done with it.

There isn’t much light at the end of this tunnel, and what light there is comes from Sam’s sunshine smiles, Cass and AJ’s rowdy laughter, Sarah’s gentle touch. He finds it again, as he always does, and reaches for it. Keeps reaching for it, even when the ice drags him back, he keeps stretching his right arm, using his physical strength, not the artificial strength from the vibranium, but the real stuff he’s trying to use more.

Bucky stretches for it, grasps it, and holds fast to it with both hands. Eventually, he gets out of there.

****

As if someone knew, Bucky is almost delivered a cat.

He’s awake later than he should be, determined to finish the stupid project he started too far into the day before he goes to bed. There’s a window open somewhere, and Bucky hears a thud come from a room further in the house.

Slowly, he gets up from his crossed legged position on the floor and starts silently stalking towards the source of the noise. He’s got one of his knives out, poised, and ready to go. If there’s a threat here, then there’s a threat close to Sarah and the boys.

The almost inaudible sound of something soft tapping on the floor leads Bucky to the upstairs bathroom. When he turns the corner into the space, there’s a white cat sniffing around the shower cubicle. “Oh.” Bucky breathes, dropping his tense shoulders and sheathing his knife. There’s a gentle meow from the mouth of the cat, its eyes closing when it turns into a yawn.

Huh.

****

Autumn blows in, winter passes, spring comes and goes, and suddenly it’s summer again. As loosely as it can be said, Bucky’s house is done.

There’s still a hell of a lot of decorating to do, so much furniture still needs to be bought, and Bucky eventually needs to buy himself a bed. But the crux of the matter is, Bucky can comfortably live there.

Not that he’s been uncomfortable there, he just hasn’t been settled. But now, he and Alpine can finally settle in.

He piles his clothes into his new closet, spends an afternoon sorting everything and donating some. The cupboards in his kitchen fill up, and he starts alphabetising his books once they’re out of storage. Alpine gets her essentials dotted around the house and tracks down the best places to nap in the sun. Slowly but surely, item by item, Bucky moves in.

It’s a shame that all this has to happen when Sam is away on mission. He’s already been gone for a fortnight, with no signs of him coming back anytime soon. Every two days, he and Joaquín find a secure line and contact their families. Bucky crowds in around the phone Sarah has as they all talk quickly so Sam gets to hear them all in the three minutes they’re allowed.

Bucky doesn’t tell him about moving in, something he knows he’ll probably pay heavily for once Sam is home. It just doesn’t feel right, revealing this massive news into an untraceable phone while Sam is probably holed up in some house Bucky doesn’t know the location of – something that is not driving him up the wall, thank you very much.

He at least has the forethought not to have Sarah and the boys over just yet, knowing Sam would genuinely be hurt by if he missed. Instead, he gets started on decorating Sam and/or Sarah’s room, painting the walls a very pale cream, and discreetly asking Sarah what decorations she’d like.

Thankfully, he knows Sam enough to get what he’d want in his room, so that room comes together quickly. Then it’s on to the last room, the one for Cass and AJ.

While he knows they have all they could want in their actual bedrooms in their home, Bucky is determined to make them as comfortable as possible in this room, so they’ll feel welcome staying the night if they ever have to. He asks them about paint colours, gives them free reign over duvet sets, gets books they both like, and has them finalise on every choice.

Once their room is done, Sam is due to be home in a week if everything goes to plan. Bucky decorates his own room, forcing himself to sit down and think about what he wants rather than what he can survive with. Damn his therapist would be proud. Then, all that’s left is organising an evening for them all to come over.

Bucky knows Sam, knows he’ll want to have a couple days to recover from his mission before doing anything demanding enough as a pre-prepared dinner. So, when he gets the good news that Sam and Joaquín are set to come home, he plops Alpine into the arms of Cass – who has grown a deep love for her – and books a flight to DC.

They’re flying in there, meeting with Rhodey and some other officials to debrief after the mission, and while Bucky wishes he wouldn’t, he knows Sam is likely going to stay the night at his rarely visited DC house. It’ll be late when they get out of the debrief, so Bucky heads to his place the second his plane lands on the tarmac.

He’s getting live updates from Sam, his texts in their family group chat coming through every few minutes. The name of the group makes him smile, something Cass changed it to when he swiped his mom’s phone when she wasn’t looking, and it just stuck.

Cap’n ‘Merica and co.
Sam 13:54
Just left Medellín, jet should have us in DC in a few hours

Sam 19:24
Landed in DC, starting debrief in an hour

Sam 20:05
Should be back to mine by midnight

Bucky smiles at the last message, not letting Sam know that he’s there, even though he more than likely has assumed he would be. Bucky tries to always be there after missions, if nothing else but to give himself peace of mind that Sam is okay, that Sam is coming back to him.

He cleans the place up, changes the sheets on Sam’s bed and the one that serves as Bucky’s own when he stays over. The kitchen needs tidying, so he does that before starting on dinner, making something homey that he knows Sam will want after a month and a half of not being home.

The table is set for one person, the food just finishing up, when the sound of a key in the front door rings in Bucky’s ears. As he always does, Bucky locked the door after himself, but he knows Sam is aware he’s here, his whereabouts made known by the lights on in the place.

“Buck, help me out here.” Sam says from the other side of the door, the sound of something heavy thumping on the floor.

From one second to the next, Bucky is at the front door, swinging it open to reveal Sam. He looks exhausted, bags under his pretty eyes, his body drooping towards the wall. “Christ Sam, give me this,” Bucky hisses, rushing to take the wing-pack and shield from Sam’s hands. “I would have helped you if I’d known you’d be bringing it all in.”

Sam doesn’t answer, just lets Bucky mother-hen him before shuffling into the house. Bucky places everything on the floor in the entryway, before wrapping his arm around Sam’s middle and dragging him to the dining table. “Sit, c’mon.” Bucky murmurs, pushing Sam’s chair in before grabbing his dinner and putting it in front of him.

He busies himself with getting him water, making sure he’s got any seasoning he could want, and starting the cleanup in the kitchen. “You didn’t have to do all this, Buck.” Sam mumbles, shoving forkfuls of the food into his mouth, not giving himself a second to breathe.

Bucky scoffs, filling the sink with water and soap to start soaking the dishes. “What, and let you come home like this to no food? No chance, sweetheart.”

The name falls from his lips without warning, without Bucky noticing quick enough to stop it. He can’t be blamed though, what with Sam sitting so quietly, so quaintly at his dining room table, leaning on Bucky for support, trusting him enough to have him in his home, use his kitchen to cook food, letting Bucky care for him.

He doesn’t allow himself to turn around and find the look on Sam’s face, doesn’t think he deserves it if it’s something good, so just stares resolutely at the pan in his hand.

From behind him, Sam hums, something agreeing, something grateful. “Stop,” Sam says with his mouth slightly full still. He chews some more and swallows. “Come sit, you know I hate when someone’s standing around me eating.”

Bucky does know that. He knows all of Sam’s little quirks, knows what Sam likes and doesn’t, knows what he needs, and more importantly, what he wants after a long mission like this one. Bucky wants to touch the blurred lines between them, can’t help but move closer to them and see exactly where they are, if anywhere at all.

Instead, he sits down opposite Sam.

“Wanna talk about the mission?” Bucky asks, already knowing the answer.

Sam’s face screws up as he shakes his head. “No, not yet. Just want to sleep.”

Bucky nods, mentally planning the quickest way to get Sam exactly what he wants. They sit in silence for a bit, Sam eating his food, slower now, while Bucky does his best to hide the fact that he’s watching him. Mapping every muscle movement in his arms and shoulders as he lifts the utensils to his mouth, the motion of his jaw as he chews, the way his throat bobs when he swallows.

It’s his own type of personal torture – not like he’s dealt with enough of that – watching Sam eat dinner or do anything really. Bucky knows this man, knows his partner, knows his best friend back to front. He knows him but still yearns to know more.

Once Sam has finished his food, he gently pushes the plate away from him and leans back in his chair. “Thanks, Buck, that was delicious,” Sam starts, allowing his head to drop back with a deep sigh. Bucky can’t help but preen at any approval Sam gives him. “Sarah’s got you in the kitchen a lot?”

Bucky smiles, the evenings he’s spent under Sarah’s soft teachings as she explains how to cook meals he’s never heard of. “When I can be.” He answers, using his nail to dig under a plate on his vibranium hand.

When he looks up, Sam is smiling at him in return.

Moments pass, Bucky basking in the beauty of Sam’s smile, before it passes. “I’ll wash this.” Sam says, standing up.

Immediately, Bucky is shaking his head and taking the plate out of Sam’s hand. “No, you’re going to shower,” Bucky starts, dropping the plate into the sink before turning Sam towards his bathroom. “I’m gonna tidy, and then you’re going to get into bed, got it?”

Sam chuckles, doing as Bucky says and heading to the bathroom. “Yes, Mother Barnes.”

When the dishes are done, and the shower has turned off, Bucky starts boiling some water. He knows Sam should have some tea, something to soothe his bones from the tension he’s probably been holding for the last six weeks.

But when fifteen minutes pass, and then another ten, with no sound from Sam’s bedroom, Bucky goes to check on him. He gently knocks on his door, pushing it open after a few seconds. Before he even says anything, Bucky catches the sight of Sam, flopped down on his bed, the sheets bunched up around his body, only his head out from the covers.

Bucky smiles and closes the door.

****

The garden is giving Bucky grief. He can’t seem to get anything right, can’t seem to figure out where the hell everything should go, what he should be planting in which season, and how to keep pests out. Along with all this, every time he’s sure he’s done something right, he turns away for a second, turns back and finds Alpine undoing all of his hard work.

He refuses to ask for help, refuses to bring Sam over and prod him for any gardening knowledge he might have. Bucky has managed to deal with Sam, playful with a paintbrush in hand, concentrating while building furniture, smiling over late-night bottles of beer after a long day. There isn’t enough willpower in the world for Bucky to deal with Sam, grassy knees, and soil dirt forearms.

They’d have a catastrophe on their hands; with the way Bucky would implode.

Instead, Bucky pours over his phone, Google tab after Google tab open trying to learn everything he possibly can. He resorts to writing notes, spending an hour each morning and night researching everything he can.

He wants to do this by himself, needs to. Sarah told him how much their father loved gardening, how often she’d wake up to find her daddy and Sam knee deep in the soil of their back garden, tending to the plants from dawn until midday. Bucky wants Sam to have a place to do that, to have a foundation to start from.

And he knows he’s got enough patience, has lived one hundred years so can manage a couple months. But the look of his bare garden, no bulbs sprouting or flowers on show yet, is kind of disconcerting.

Then Sam comes over, and stands in his garden, and Bucky is sort of weak. “Looks good,” He says, his hands on his hips as he turns this way and that. “My daddy would be proud.”

It’s all for you Bucky thinks. “It’s a load of empty beds, Sam.” Bucky deadpans instead.

Sam scoffs, taking a couple more steps away towards the edge of Bucky’s property. “For now, once things start growing it’ll look great.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, for some reason wanting to be difficult and petty. “If anything grows, you mean.”

Sam turns back to him swiftly, his face a picture of annoyance. “Don’t be like that, baby,” He says, slowly walking back to the house. Bucky loses the breath he tries to take in. “I’ve got faith in it,” Sam adds, standing at the bottom of the steps that lead to Bucky’s porch. From here, Sam has to look up at Bucky, through his thick lashes. “Got faith in you.”

Bucky honestly has to look away, lest he faint right then and there. He doesn’t say anything, his mouth dropped open in a stupid ‘o’ as he looks around.

The sound of Sam chuckling makes Bucky look back to him, watching him shake his head and mount the three steps until he’s eye-to-eye with Bucky. “You’re so slow,” Sam murmurs, before his soft hands come up to cradle Bucky’s face. “Stop me.”

Bucky gulps, his right hand clammy as he lifts both of them to grab at Sam’s waist. His only reply is the minute movement of his head shaking no.

“Good.” Sam whispers, before he pulls them together and connects their lips.

Bucky’s mind goes blank. Everything else falls away and not a single thought that isn’t whatthefuckwhatthefuck can get through his mind.

He responds in earnest, tightening the hold he has on Sam's waist and forcing them ever closer. He can feel his mind spiralling, can feel his body trying to catch up after the shock of this, but all he manages to focus on is the feel of Sam’s lips.

The sounds he makes. The way his lower body rolls into his. The taste of Sam’s tongue on his own, something he thought he would only get to know in his dreams. Sam’s bunched up shirt in his hands, as he pushes one underneath to get a feel of the soft skin of his back. Bucky’s entire being is flooded with every sense of Sam Wilson.

Sam hums, the kiss breaking as his smile broadens too much to continue. “Slow, but not out of practice, huh baby?” He whispers, pecking Bucky’s lips a couple times.

“They must have left that in, because I’ve not had any practice, doll.”

Sam chuckles, leaving a few lingering kisses on Bucky’s lips before stepping away from him. “Too caught up on someone?” He asks, the shit-eating grin on his face telling Bucky all he needs to know.

Bucky can’t bring himself to release Sam, instead letting his hands follow the movement of Sam stepping back, but staying on his sides, his shirt over Bucky’s hands. “Like a fish.”

That earns him a breathy laugh, one that makes Sam close his eyes and bring his gap-toothed smile on display. Bucky loves him, is useless to it. Alpine meows from their feet, and Bucky thinks she must be laughing at him.

“Let’s see this home then, baby.”

Sam reaches out for Bucky’s hand, his Vibranium one, and Bucky grasps Sam’s in return.

****

Eventually, after a few setbacks, Bucky organises an evening meal for the four Wilson’s to have in his home.

He kicks Sam out, the bed feeling lonely without him, but knows he needs to have a day without distractions to get everything ready. Even though Sam has seen the place in every possible state, he still wants it to be perfect for Sam and their family to see.

A good few hours pass with Bucky cleaning every possible surface. The bathrooms get a deep cleanse, the living room is made as cosy as it can be, and the dining room table is set within an inch of its life.

He files through the recipes Sarah has drilled into his brain, selecting Shrimp Étouffée and buys all the groceries he needs for it, along with a dessert. He’s not quite baker-ready yet, so thinks it’s best not to risk that.

The hours before everyone is set to arrive pass in steaming pots, seasoned ingredients, and a hot kitchen. He’s got windows open, a thin shirt he thinks might be Sam’s, and a pair of jeans he’s greatly regretting.

Once he’s happy enough to leave everything alone for a moment, he runs to his bedroom. There, he pulls on a different pair of black jeans, ones that aren’t stuck to him from the humidity of his kitchen, and a blue shirt, which is definitely Sam’s. He leaves a quick kiss between Alpine’s ears where she’s sleeping on her cat tree in his room. Then, he sprints back downstairs, checking on everything one last time before setting on getting drinks ready.

He’s just poured the last glass of wine when he hears voices from his porch. “I don’t need to knock.” Bucky hears Sam saying.

Sarah huffs. “You need to knock, Samuel.”

He can practically picture Sam giving Sarah his tired face. “It’s Bucky, Sar, we don’t need to knock.”

Bucky is about to open the door to stop the siblings bickering, when AJ clearly takes the initiative and swings the door open and runs in. “Uncle Bucky!” He says, storming over to him and starting to play-fight, Cass not far behind.

There isn’t a single second wasted as Bucky immediately joins in, throwing fake punches and pretending to be wounded when they get the jump on him. The sound of the boys’ voices must be enough to bring Alpine down, because Bucky blinks and she’s there.

From the front door, Bucky hears Sarah slap Sam. “You see the bad habits you’re teaching my kids?” She hisses, but Bucky can hear the smile in her voice.

Within minutes, Bucky’s house is filled with comfort, with warmth. The Wilson’s can’t seem to go anywhere without bringing that with them, and Bucky is forever grateful to them for it.

They settle at the table, Bucky putting Sarah at the head, putting himself and Sam on either side of her. AJ and Cass fight over who gets to sit by Bucky, something that melts his heart into a pathetic puddle on the floor before Sarah gives them a compromise to swap seats before dessert.

Bucky jogs back and forth from the kitchen, bringing dishes and bowls with him. From under the table, Bucky spots Alpine’s tail, flicking against Cass’ leg. He shushes Sarah multiple times when she offers to help, determined to let her have a well-deserved break.

Eventually, everything is on the table, and Sarah leads a short prayer before they’re all tucking in. “Damn,” Sarah says, having taken a couple bites of the food. “I taught you well.” She says, and Bucky laughs.

“Yeah?” He asks, tentatively taking a bite of his own after he’s checked everyone else is enjoying.

Sarah gawks at him. “Are you kidding? This tastes exactly how it should! Great job, Bucky.”

Sam grins, always happy to see Bucky getting on with everyone, even when he’s not around. “It’s really something, Buck.”

Under the table, Sam stretches his leg enough to gently prod at Bucky’s, giving him a shy smile across the table. Bucky nudges him back, his face heating.

****

The dessert that follows is revealed to be ‘Not as good at mama’s’ Says Cass, which Bucky has to agree with. Nothing beats Sarah’s peach cobbler, the recipe that their family has had for generations.

Bucky shoos everyone away, forcing Sarah to sit in the lounge with the boys while he cleans up. He does his best to make Sam go too, but eventually, after Sam has given him enough eyes over his nephew’s heads, Bucky allows him to help.

They’re on their first trip to the kitchen when Sam takes the plates out of Bucky’s hands and puts them in the sink, grabbing Bucky’s hips and pulling him away from the kitchen door. “Can I have you for a moment?” He asks, and Bucky would be a fool to deny him.

“Always,” Bucky says, a smile already stretching on his face when Sam steps close enough, allowing Bucky to crowd him against the counter.

When Sam hums, his hands drifting up Bucky’s back to rub around his neck and down his chest, he smiles up at Bucky, his honey eyes focused on him. Before Sam says anything, he leans up and pulls Bucky’s face down to his, connecting their lips in a quiet kiss.

The only sound in the kitchen is the soft smacking of their lips as Sam breathes against Bucky’s face. They pull apart, and Bucky can’t help but grin widely. Sam and his kiss make him stupid, sue him. “What was that for?”

Sam shrugs, looking down with a smirk. “Nothing, just…”

Bucky furrows his brows, using his nose to nudge Sam’s face back up. “What?”

There’s silence for a few seconds, and Bucky would worry, but Sam’s hands tap gently on Bucky’s chest, and then he looks up. “Just love seeing you with our family, how much you love them.”

All the breath escapes Bucky’s lungs, every ounce of the doubt he cannot seem to get rid of, leaves him for a moment. Their family. Bucky had always thought of them as his family, but he was never sure if he was allowed to consider himself their family in their eyes. The words get tangled in his mind; his gratitude gets caught between all the love he holds for them.

“Of course I love them,” Bucky says, his tone obvious, because to him, it is. “They’re everything to you, and everything to me. How could I not love them?”

Sam’s face softens; his eyes drooping shut in slow blinks. “You’re something else, Barnes.”

The words form in his mind against his will. “Oh,” Bucky starts, a sneaky grin on his lips. “You haven’t called me that in a while, sweetheart. Have I upset you?”

The question Sam asked all those months ago, nearly two years ago, the pet name he slipped in which sent Bucky on a downward spiral, coming to light again. The irony reveals itself on Sam’s face, and Bucky is overcome with the pure sunshine he’s looking at when Sam laughs.

He leans in and peppers Sam’s lips, nose, eyes, face, with kisses, revelling in the joy he feels at these moments he gets to have with Sam.

Eventually, after Sam has been laughing too hard, too long, he pushes Bucky off himself, and steps towards the dining room. “C’mon,” He starts, his hand held in Bucky’s. “Let’s tidy up.”

And Bucky, as he always does, and always will do, follows him.

****

It’s another three hours of talking, of reminiscing and laughing on Bucky’s sofa, when Sarah gets up. “Aw, you’re not going, are you?” Bucky asks, the foreign feeling of wanting company to stay slowly settling in his bones, the longer he lives with these people.

Sarah looks hesitant, and her control is wavering when both of the boys start begging to stay. It looks like she’s about to give in, but then AJ yawns, which sets off Cass, and Sarah chuckles. “Naw, you boys need your beds, and I have work in the morning.”

As much as Bucky doesn’t want to agree, he knows she’s right. He’s about to offer the spare rooms when Sam secretly settles his hand high on Bucky’s thigh and decides against it.

“Come,” Sarah says, lifting AJ up onto his feet from the ground. “All of you, let's go.” She says, giving Sam a meaningful look.

They haven’t told her yet, haven’t told the boys either. It wasn’t an active decision, just something they both silently agreed on. They’re giving themselves some time to sit in the changes, and figure all of it out at their own pace.

So, when Sam gives her a look, Bucky is sure she already knows. “I’m gonna stay here tonight.” Sam says, both of the boys beginning to crawl on him to say goodbye. The loss of his hand on Bucky’s thigh leaves him cold, but seeing the boys hugging Sam, before heading over to him, warms him right back up.

Sarah cocks her hip and crosses her arms. “Mm-hmm?” Her face is nothing but the one of a knowing sister, and Bucky feels his face flush. “Sure.”

Bucky looks down, burying his face in between the two heads he’s got on either side of his own. “See you guys tomorrow, I’ll pick you up from school, yeah?” He says, and they both cheer. They both spend a minute saying goodbye to Alpine, fawning over her which she preens under before they gather with their mom at the door.

Bucky forces himself to stand, determined to end the evening properly by seeing them out. He stands at the front door, his one hand holding it open, while he watches the three of them pile into Sarah’s car.

The car has just turned on when Sam comes up behind him and wraps his arm around Bucky’s waist. He must know how obvious this looks, but Bucky doesn’t care. Sarah definitely knows, and the boys will get told soon.

“She’ll have to answer all of AJ’s questions now,” Sam whispers, turning his face to press a long kiss to Bucky’s neck. “Why is Uncle Sam kissing Uncle Bucky?” Sam says, in a poor imitation of AJ’s young voice. “Are Uncle Sam and Uncle Bucky a couple?”

Bucky starts laughing, the sound bursting from him as Sam’s kisses start tickling him. “Okay, okay doll, it’s cold.”

Sam mumbles unhappily, before pulling Bucky back enough so he can toe the door closed. He steps away from Bucky, stretching to grab the keys from a small bowl by the door, and locking it. The clang of Sam setting the keys down rings in the silent house. They’re alone.

“C’mon, baby.” Sam whispers, pulling Bucky along behind him towards the stairs.

Bucky stops, tugging Sam’s hand and looking at the state of the living room. “I need to tidy up.” He says, in a pitiful attempt at teasing Sam.

It doesn’t work because Sam just gives him a deadpan face and takes one step closer. “If you want to stay down here and tidy all this up, don’t let me stop you,” He starts, teasing Bucky by speaking quiet enough that his voice goes husky, his lips a mere inch away. “But I’m going to bed, and I’d like you to join.”

Bucky’s nodding before Sam has even finished speaking, his mouth dropped open. All thoughts of tidying the living room are abandoned as Bucky follows Sam upstairs.

****

The next morning, when Sam wakes up and untangles himself from Bucky’s heavy limbs so he can go for his morning run, he stands at the edge of what’s come to be their bedroom and looks on at Bucky. He’s cuddled in with Alpine, who insists on sleeping on the pillow behind Bucky’s head, no matter which way he’s facing.

He’s scowling in his sleep, something Sam tries to stop him from doing – by kissing his eyebrows, smoothing the pad of his thumbs over the skin on his forehead – but he always looks beautiful. The morning sun shining on his skin, making the pale colour of his unscarred skin look milky, and the gentle pink of his scars standing out. Sam loves every inch of this man.

He steps outside, locking the door behind himself and posting the key, knowing Bucky will be awake when he gets home. There, in front of him, is the love-letter Bucky wrote to him, the garden he’s watching flourish slowly over time. The small buds of the flowers starting to bloom, directing their petals to the sun.

Sam follows in their footsteps, seeking out the sun to bask in her light. He starts running.

When he gets back, Bucky has made them breakfast and is working on what Sam assumes to be his second cup of coffee. He steps over to him, smiles as he leans in to press a kiss to his lips. “Morning, baby.” Sam whispers, pecking him another time.

Bucky grumbles, his morning persona having gone missing since the house was completed. He’s reverted back to his morning grouchiness, but still finds a smile to send at Sam.

He tries to step towards the sink when Bucky uses his arm to wrap around his waist and pull him against him. Sam collapses into his lap and laughs at the momentum he felt. “Good morning, sweetheart.” Bucky finally answers, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to Sam’s lips.

When Sam gets up, slowly removing his hands from Bucky’s body, he pats his shoulder. I’ve got you. Bucky twines their fingers together, stretching his neck to press a kiss on the top of his hand. I’ve got you too.